To Go Unseen (A Natasha Romanoff Story)
by BlitheBells
Summary: A Natasha Romanoff and Winter Widow story. Completed. Third book in the three part 'Run' series. First title is 'Run' and second is 'Ready Set Breathe'. Also found on AO3 and Wattpad Rated for some violence
1. 1 Washington DC

Bucky Barnes was just beginning to learn this about himself, but he liked long car rides. It was relaxing, both driving and being driven, and he liked to look out the window and watch buildings and rows of snow-covered farmland and other people in other cars pass by.

The rental car felt new and it smelled new. Natalia, known to the world as the Black Widow and known to Bucky as his girlfriend, had picked it up the night before and they'd taken off that morning, months after Bucky's escape from Hydra. It wasn't a threat anymore. Bucky was healing.

He watched Washington D.C. become fuzzy in the horizon behind them. The darkness sinking back behind the rising of the sun was beautiful.

"Steve says hi," Bucky read texts to Natalia from his cell phone while she drove, sinking into his seat with his knees on the dash. "And he says to drive carefully."

"I'm a better driver than him any day," Natalia scoffed and she looked over at Bucky and, smiling, rolled her eyes. "I'm careful. Tell him that."

"He also says to send pictures of the Grand Canyon once we get there," Bucky added. "He envies the warmth, I think."

"We'll even get him a postcard," Natalia said cheerfully and then she was looking forward out the window at the long highway in front of them and her smile faded a little. "We'll only be out a week and a half tops. Tell him that. We'll be back before he even knows we're gone."

"I'll tell him," Bucky said and he looked back down at his cell phone and felt a little worried. He'd been feeling worried, ever since they took off, that even though he'd wanted it, maybe leaving wasn't such a great idea, but Steve swore he'd be fine and Bucky had left him with Sam Wilson and Sharon Carter and had promised to call and text often. There was a quiet in the car then, a contrast from where, ever since the morning, there had been talking, playful flirting and conversation. Bucky swallowed.

It was February now, a few weeks since Steve had asserted to Bucky that he wasn't going to attempt death and Bucky was proud of him, and so relieved to see him getting better, but he still felt anxious leaving him behind, even if it was only for a week or so. In fact, he still had the stressful nightmares every so often of Steve dead.

"He'll be fine," Natalia said too loudly in the quiet and she was reassuring herself as much as she was reassuring him. "He's doing so much better."

"Yeah, he is," Bucky said and he looked out the window and his mouth was going dry. He felt Natalia place a hand on his knee and he looked over just long enough to see her make eye contact with him before she had to turn back to the road.

"You're supposed to be having fun, remember," she said and she glanced over again quickly to smile at him. "You need this. And look, if we get the slightest idea he's having problems, I've got plane tickets lined up to get us back there." The plane tickets were also for him, Bucky knew. Natalia hadn't wanted to go so far from home yet, she hadn't wanted to take Bucky out of his comfort zone, but Bucky had wanted it. And just in case, he knew, just in case things didn't go as planned, they could go home immediately.

The drive was long, and quiet, and there wasn't much to look at and Bucky had cranked up the car's heater and now, he leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes and began to fall asleep.

Several hours later, when Natalia shook Bucky gently awake, he opened his eyes and sat up stiffly to find they'd pulled into a gas station.

"My turn to drive?" He asked.

"Not yet," Natalia said as she unbuckled herself from her seat and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Bucky heard the car hum itself into silence and Natalia pushed the door open and then leaned over and kissed the side of his face. "Would you pump the gas? I'll get us snacks."

"Sure," Bucky said and pulled his windbreaker back on as he watched Natalia walk up towards the convenience store. It was cold as he stood there outside the car, waiting on the gas pump, breathing hot on his right hand before he crammed it back into his pocket and shivered.

Bucky didn't get out much, which was part of the reason they were taking this trip in the first place, but even though he usually kept to himself in his and Natalia's DC apartment, he was used to the stares. He got them in the streets, and out at restaurants. People recognized him from off the news or from World War Two text books and they gaped at his prosthetic and made him distinctly uncomfortable. He was stared at often, but that didn't mean he didn't notice it then and it didn't mean he didn't notice it now.

There were other people with cars standing outside in the cold February air and Bucky felt eyes on him. He looked up. Two people were staring. He stared back, hoping that meeting their eyes would be enough to make them turn, but it wasn't, and Bucky was finally the one to look away, somewhat disturbed.

He turned behind him. There were more people on the other side of the lot, staring.

Three more to the side.

A couple more by the store.

Bucky swallowed and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. They weren't even whispering, or pointing, or making faces. They simply stood there and…

It was cold, and the sky had gone grey, and every single person in the parking lot had stopped to turn and silently, unabashedly, stare at Bucky Barnes.

The click from the gas pump startled Bucky, and he pulled his hands out of his jacket pockets to take the pump from the car and pay the machine. When he turned around, one of the staring men had approached him. Bucky looked at him with a sense of growing unease and backed away. Meanwhile, the man ignored Bucky almost completely and, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, examined their car. Bucky watched him, incredulous, while the man walked up and down and studied the tires. He was the only person in the parking lot to now completely ignore Bucky. However, when he began to peer into the windows, Bucky roused himself from staring in disbelief.

"Can I help you?" He said, half in anger and half in surprise, but before the man could look up and respond, a voice interrupted him.

"James!" Natalia cried and the man in front of Bucky turned around and backed away. Natalia jogged to the car and Bucky noticed her position herself in between him and the man. He wondered if it was purposeful. She looked up at him and smiled, resting a hand on his forearm. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Bucky said and Natalia turned and slung open the drivers side door and slipped herself inside with a strange sort of urgency. Bucky felt that everyone here knew something he didn't.

"Come on, then," Natalia called and Bucky hurried around to the other side of the car to join her. The man pulled his shoulders back, stood up taller, and pressed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. He was still staring at the both of them now, down his nose, and Bucky looked away, unsettled. Natalia fit the key into the ignition and started the car and as soon as it was on, she pressed the gas to the floor and peeled out of the gas station lot. Bucky looked behind them to see all those strange, silent people turn to stare after them and a chill went down his spine.

"What was that," Bucky said after the gas station had faded into the distance and Natalia looked over at him.

"What was what?" She asked cheerfully and Bucky swallowed and then began to shake his head.

"I guess… Nothing," he said.


	2. 2 Pennsylvania state line bordering Ohio

2 [Pennsylvania state line, almost into Ohio]

It was noon and the sun was just above them. Bucky had turned on the radio, but he was staring out the window and looking at frozen grass hills and fields instead of listening. He could hear Natalia beside him humming cheerfully to the songs he didn't recognize through the low growl of the car heater.

"I thought you were going to get snacks?" Bucky said, looking around the car.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I forgot." She made a face.

"It doesn't matter," Bucky said. He smiled at her. "It's fine." It was, however, strange to him that she had gone into the store with one purpose and had spent so long there, only to completely forget. It was unlike her, was all.

He'd had a bad feeling all day.

"Are you hungry?" Natalia asked and looked over at him. "We haven't eaten since breakfast this morning and I think there are some fast food places coming up."

"Sure," Bucky said and a few minutes later, Natalia pulled into the drive-through of some burger joint and got them both meals. They sat in a secluded part of the parking lot to eat and, tired, Natalia leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder while they ate. Bucky thought she must have been quite exhausted because the shoulder she was leaning on wasn't flesh, but she still had her eyes closed. Bucky put down his food and wiped his hands off as he leaned over and kissed her head.

"Hey," he said quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder gently to stir her. "Hey, come on, Nat." Natalia's eyelids fluttered and Bucky shifted to take her in both of his arms, scooting uncomfortably across the seats, stopped by the gear shift in between them. He laughed a little and she smiled and let herself be held, scooting as close to him as she could come. "You're going to have to stand up to switch me places," he said to her, because of course, she needed to rest. "You up for it?" Natalia laughed and rolled her eyes, but she remained snuggled into his chest.

"I guess I could use a nap," she replied in mumbles and Bucky smiled and rubbed her back.

"Well congratulations, you get one," he said and then he pulled away from her, making her sit up blearily, and he picked up the garbage from their meal and opened his door. "I'll throw this away, you sit here," he told her and stood.

The nearest garbage can was all the way across the parking lot, up next to the restaurant, so Bucky began walking there. And he didn't want to believe it, but suddenly he remembered quite vividly the gas station experience of earlier, and the strange, silent, staring people. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and Bucky stiffened. In the middle of the parking lot, he stopped and turned. Behind him, all the people in the parking lot were staring. Bucky felt his mouth go dry and he looked back quickly to Natalia at the car. She was standing by his door, halfway inside, and she was staring back at them. He watched her turn and look at him and she looked alarmed and Bucky turned back and ran for the garbage can, throwing the paper bag, and then making record time back for the car. He threw himself into the drivers seat and Natalia did the same and Bucky stepped on the gas pedal. He nearly hit a few of the offending starers on the way out, but they dodged just in time.

"What is that?" Bucky said loudly once they were on the road. He looked back behind him, then at Natalia, whose face was white. "That happened at the gas station too, they just… What was that?"

"Don't get alarmed," Natalia tried to comfort him, but she didn't sound very convincing. "It's probably nothing…"

Bucky gripped the wheel and drove faster and he couldn't stop a strange fear from washing over him.

"It's usually me," he said, panicking. "But it's not me this time. I'm even wearing gloves, I've got a hat on, there's nothing for them to stare at! I don't look like anybody special!"

Natalia didn't respond.

"Nat?" Bucky said and looked over at her and she was sinking back into her seat and staring at the ceiling. She looked afraid and suddenly, Bucky felt bad. He looked back at the road and let the quiet speak for itself for a while, and then he looked at her. "You need a nap," he said and his voice grew pitying. "We can talk about it later, it's okay. Try to sleep." Natalia turned her face away from him and Bucky watched her for as long as he could before he had to turn back and try to concentrate on the GPS instructions.

This, however, was not the end of the strangeness for Bucky. Natalia fell into sleep, or at least, something like it, and Bucky was left alone in the quiet of the car and with the other cars on the road.

It was a four-lane highway he was on. One of the huge ones, with the crazy speed limits and lifted roads above them on ramps. They were coming into a city, one they'd planned to stay the night. That's when the car in front of Bucky began to slow down. Confused, Bucky backed off the gas and let the car slow and when he looked around to find a lane around him to switch to, he found that all the cars in front of him had slowed. At least, all the ones immediately in front of him. They were in a line, blocking him off. He was stuck. Bucky's mouth opened and he didn't know what to do except to slow down with the line of cars. Then, behind him, another line, speeding up almost to hit the back of his car and Bucky cried out and leapt forward and almost got hit in the front. He could see out of the corner of his eye cars from the back speeding up a bit to completely block him and he realized with a confused horror that they were boxing him in.

"Natalia," Bucky said. "Nat!"

"Hmm," Nat said and began to stir and then Bucky saw just coming up, a road splitting off the main one into a different direction and it was one lane. This is my only chance, Bucky thought in a panic and as soon as it was close enough, he slammed on the gas and yelled loudly, jerking the car to the right. One of the cars that had intended to box them in began to swerve to avoid Bucky and he swept past them, but he could hear the side of their car scrape against the other. He didn't have time to care. He was still screaming as soon as they got onto the ramp and he slowed down and turned and watched the offending box of cars continue, empty, down the road.

"What the hell?!" Natalia screamed at Bucky and he looked over at her, sitting up and gripping the sides of her chair with white-knuckled hands, and back to the road.

"Ask them!" He cried and he looked forward and gripped the wheel and danced just on the edge of what could be considered speeding on the new road.


	3. 3 somewhere near Zanesville, Ohio

3 [somewhere near Zanesville, Ohio]

In Bucky's wild attempt to run from the box of cars, he had taken them down a road they hadn't meant to go. The GPS recalibrated, but they still ended up in a small, unfamiliar town at the end of the day with no hotel reservations to speak of.

"I didn't know what else to do," Bucky breathed as they sat on the side of the road and he ran his hands through his hair and leaned back. His heart was still racing. He looked over at Natalia and she didn't look accusing.

"It's fine," she said and she turned to him and tried to comfort him. "Come on, don't panic, it's okay." Bucky let out a long breath and Natalia took his right hand from where he'd been holding his head and she squeezed it gently. "Breathe," she said. "We're fine."

"Okay," Bucky said. "Okay."

"Do you still want to drive?" Natalia asked and Bucky nodded.

"I'm fine," he said and he took his hand from her and switched gears to get back onto the road.

"We should probably find somewhere to sleep," Natalia commented. "It's getting late." Bucky nodded again.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay."

The GPS brought them to a cheap motel by the highway, not unlike ones Bucky had become familiar with soon after his escape from Hydra, and he didn't want to take Natalia into a place like that, but by the time he'd turned to her to offer to find somewhere else, she was already out of the car. He followed her inside with their luggage and hung back while she bought them a room.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Bucky said when she stepped back. She looked up at him and smiled like she did when she thought he was being cute.

"I didn't always live in that cushy DC apartment, James," she told him as she turned to lead him forward to their room, giving him a trademark smirk, a corner of her mouth turning up playfully. "I can handle a crummy motel."

After they'd collapsed onto the lumpy mattress, sinking into the dark both inside and outside and both of them exhausted, Bucky still felt uneasy.

"Today was weird," he said quietly as they wrapped around each other. He liked sleeping with her, and although he felt anxious, her arms around him, the warmth of her skin on his, the smell of her hair, comforted him. He felt loved, and so much less alone when he was being touched.

Natalia looked over at him and pressed her mouth together and sighed.

"Yeah," she said. "It was." Then, "are you scared?" She asked. Bucky stared at Natalia.

"Should I be?" He replied quietly and Natalia stared back.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe… Maybe we should go home."

"What?" Bucky said and he turned and pulled himself out of her arms so he could look her in the face. "No, no, not yet."

"This was supposed to be _fun_, James," she said and sat up a little and he did too. "It was supposed to be you and me, getting out of the house, trying to relax."

"And it will be," Bucky said.

"We almost crashed the car today," Natalia replied and she avoided his eyes for a second and she looked like she was weighing her choices. "We're gonna have to pay for the damage."

"Can't you show them your Avengers ID?" Bucky said. "That's got to get us some sort of discount."

"That's not what I'm saying," she said. She sounded frustrated. "Well, it is, but… But this hasn't been what we thought it would be. Maybe we made a mistake."

Bucky didn't want to return to DC. Of course, there seemed to be lots of good reasons why he should. After all, Steve was there, and Steve needed him. And Bucky's home was there, his safe, cozy apartment with Natalia. He usually didn't like leaving the house and he hated the staring and hotels reminded him of running, but… But this was an opportunity for things to be somewhat different for once. Fun, for once. And it wasn't for too long, not so long that it would scare him, and he and Natalia could do whatever they wanted. He didn't get an opportunity like that very often. He wanted to stay, to try to make it work.

"Let's give it one more day," Bucky said. "One more shot."

"What if it's dangerous," Natalia said and Bucky stopped and looked at her. In the dark, he could only see the outline of light, a halo around her hair, highlighting her silhouette from the street lamp outside. Her face was dark.

"What do you mean, dangerous," he said.

"Didn't those people make you uneasy?" She asked and Bucky looked down and swallowed. He didn't have to ask who she meant.

"They're just… Staring. People do that a lot," he said. "How silly would we be if we went home because some people in a parking lot looked at us funny?" He couldn't be sure, but he thought Natalia was smiling at that. "Come on," he said. "You know I'm right." It did scare him, though. It did make him uneasy, but he told himself it was nothing.

It was just people staring.

"And besides," Bucky said. He tried to make his voice lighthearted, teasing. "I know you were looking forward to rock climbing. You don't want to miss that, right?"

Bucky dropped himself back down on the mattress and Natalia followed him and rested her face close to his.

"Fine," she gave in and she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He grinned. Victory! "Fine, but just because you want this so badly."

"Uh-huh," Bucky laughed. "Definitely just me." Natalia laughed a little.

"But James, If it gets any worse, we're using those plane tickets," she said. "If it gets… Fishy."

"Sure, sure," Bucky said and smiled at her. "Of course." Then, he said, "I love you." Now he could be sure Natalia was smiling because it was in her voice and she pressed her forehead to his and brought her hand around to rest on the back of his neck.

"I love you, too," she said and Bucky fell asleep tangled in her and with her soft breath against his cheek.

That night, Bucky had dreams of eyes on him and people with no mouths.

_Because someone brought this to my attention, I thought I ought to clear something up quickly! :) Technically, Run, Breathe and Unseen are set in the movie universe, so it would make sense for Bucky to have Sebastian Stan's blue eyes. However, I've given Bucky brown eyes. Throughout my writing, I've taken little liberties like this one to give nod to the comics 'verse because although I think Sebastian's eyes are gorgeous, but I like Bucky with brown eyes, like he has in the books. :) -BB_


	4. 4 Washington DC

4 [Washington D.C.]

Natasha noticed James was bored when he began to flip through her books a week or so earlier. She had shelves of them around the apartment, and he'd never taken much of an interest until now.

"What are you reading?" Natasha asked when James sat down on the couch with one of her books in hand.

"Dunno," he said. "Just grabbed something." He looked up at her, those pretty brown eyes. "You mind?"

"Of course not," she said and she got up and joined him on the other couch, scooting into him and leaning up against him. "But you've never liked to read before." James shrugged.

"We've been to the theatre," he said. "And we go to dinner sometimes. And we do things with Steve. But…," he frowned. "We've pretty much done everything we can do around here." He looked back down at the book. It was a novel, a mystery story. He smiled a little and laughed and Natasha smiled with him. "I'm trying to find something new, I guess."

Later that day, at Steve's apartment across the street, Natasha bounced ideas back and forth.

"What about a day trip?" She said to him. "Find something he'd like doing, take the day off."

"You could do more than that," Steve suggested. "Go for few days, make a whole vacation out of it." Natasha pursed her lips as she considered it. It sounded nice, sure, but she thought it could very quickly go sour.

"James is comfortable here," she said anxiously. "He's really, really starting to get better."

"Yeah?" Steve agreed. "And?" He leaned across the table towards her, a pen in his ink-stained hands. He was doodling stars on a napkin, stars and tall buildings and other shapes Natasha couldn't quite make out. She watched his hands as they talked and imagined James seeing those tall buildings, in real life. Would they make him happy?

"And I don't want to take him out of his comfort zone," Natasha said. As she spoke, her voice became quieter and quieter. James was in the next room. She didn't want him to hear. "I don't want it to become too much for him." She knew what James would say. Don't treat me like glass. I'm no porcelain doll. I can do it.

"So make a back-up plan," Steve replied, staring down at his napkin. He was starting to draw her face. She recognized her own nose and chin, even upside down from the other side of the table.

"It's not just that," Natasha said and she shifted a little and leaned forward further, waiting until Steve glanced up at her and she caught his eye and held him there.

"What," Steve said.

"Would you be okay if we left for that long?" Natasha asked, concerned. Steve looked away, back down at his napkin and she watched him bore a hole into the corner with the tip of his ballpoint pen. She frowned. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she cut him off. "I swear, Steve Rogers, if you try to tell me you're fine-"

"That's not what I was gonna say," Steve said. He looked away and rubbed the back of his hair with one hand. "I was gonna say I can manage." He glanced at her. "Besides, you wouldn't be gone forever, and we have cell phones. I could manage."

"Steve," Natasha said and Steve looked at her, his face nearly determined.

"Tasha," he said. "I'm serious. If you and Bucky need time, I understand. Take a vacation, don't worry about me."

"_I_ don't need time," Natasha said automatically and Steve looked back down, smirking.

"Uh huh," he said. "Sure. Like you're not both going stir-crazy." Natasha let out a breath and put her head into her hands. He may have been right, but regardless… Natasha's memories of Steve's too-recent suicide attempts were vivid. She didn't want to leave him. She swallowed and began to shake her head.

"If you try anything while we're gone, Rogers," she said. "If you try anything at all."

"What's going on?" James said and Natasha looked up and there he was in the room, his hands in his pockets, standing over them by the table with a concerned look on his face. "Who's going anywhere?" Natasha considered lying, so James didn't get excited. If it would be too risky to go, she didn't want him to have any high hopes. But James hated her lying, and a trip, well… It _did_ sound nice. She'd like to see something other than the inside of her own four walls for once.

"I thought you'd like to get out of the house," she admitted. "I was thinking maybe a day trip or something." She realized then that watching James' face light up was one of the most gratifying things in the world, but even as she knew this, she also realized that there was no going back. He looked utterly delighted.

"I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon," James said, as though he'd been considering this deeply for some time already.

"Woah," Natasha said. "Arizona is _not_ a day trip."

"You could take a week or two," Steve said. He was smiling at James and James was grinning back and then he slid into a chair next to Natasha.

"That could be so much fun," he said.

And so they planned out a dream vacation back in front of the computer at their own apartment, a nearly cross-country road trip by rental car.

"It's 38 hours both ways," Natasha exclaimed.

"So we get there in two or three days," James said. "That's perfect, we could have fun along the way, too."

Natasha turned to James and he was still tracing lines on the map on the screen with a finger, thinking, until she took his hand and made him look at her.

"James," she said. "We can do this, if you want. But if you're ever not okay, even for a second, even just a little bit, you _swear_ you'll tell me and we'll come back here as fast as I can get us, okay?"

"Okay," James said. She reached over and took his other hand, smooth metal. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Swear," Natasha insisted.

"Alright!" James said. "I swear! We'll come back." Then, "Nat, do you want to do this?"

"What?" Natasha said, suddenly somewhat disoriented due to the subject change. James looked down at her hands and rubbed his right thumb against her fingers gently, then back up at her.

"Do you want this?" He asked. "You're so… Hesitant."

"Well, yes," she admitted. "I do. It'd be really nice to get out of the house, really nice, but James, it could be risky." James frowned a little.

"You mean about me," he said.

"And Steve," Natasha added. "I don't want to… Be reckless."

"I'm fine," James insisted. "Really." Natasha took a breath and started to argue, but James stopped her. "I'm fine enough to do this," he said. "It's not Russia. It's Arizona. And it's not like we'd be running from anyone. We wouldn't be in danger, Nat, we'd be out there, having fun. It's different. It's a _vacation._" Natasha was silent, considering. James looked at her with his puppy dog eyes and she sighed. He was still holding her hand, and he lifted it to his mouth now and started to kiss her fingers. She could feel him begin to smile mischievously.

"It'd just be the two of us…," James said suggestively and Natasha rolled her eyes. She wouldn't let him persuade her like this. She refused to be delighted by him, not this time.

"That's why we have our own apartment, dummy," she said and try as she might, she couldn't stop herself from smiling. She began to run her free hand through his hair, his head still bowed over her fingers.

"Come on, Nat," James said. He looked up at her and she let her hand fall behind him, resting on his shoulder. She took her other hand from him and slung both arms around his neck. He cupped her face in his hands, one side chill, smooth metal and the other, hot flesh. He looked at her pleadingly. "Doesn't it sound like fun?" Natasha sighed. She was melting.

"One day, I'll be able to say no to you," she said and another big smile from James dazzled her. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth. "I'll give you a solid no," she told him when he pulled away and he laughed. "Maybe if you ever stop being so cute."

"I love you," James said, smiling widely and she started to smile back, almost laughing. She shook her head.

"I love you, too," she replied.


	5. 5 moving out of Zanesville

5 [moving out of Zanesville and getting closer to Columbus, Ohio]

The next day was distinctly normal. There were no staring people, or suspicious cars on the road. They were a little behind schedule, but made almost no effort to make up for it. Instead, they stopped at tourist traps along the way and ate burgers at sit-down restaurants and Bucky loved to watch Natalia laugh at his jokes and smile at him. Sometimes, he still couldn't believe how utterly perfect she was. Frankly, he didn't think he deserved her.

"This is fun," he said to her. They were sitting down inside a restaurant for dinner, shedding layers of jackets and hats and teasing each other. "This is better than yesterday, right?"

Natalia smiled at Bucky and he watched her smile a little begrudgingly and roll her eyes.

"Yeah," she agreed. "It is."

In fact, Natasha had been surprised at how much fun she could have. In the conception and planning of this, she supposed she'd forgotten that James was her boyfriend and she could do more than just shield him from what might scare him. They could have fun together, enjoy each other's company, and although she felt hesitant, she began to feel herself relaxing. Relaxing into the way James' face lit up and the stupid jokes he made that sent her into stitches, relaxing into the smell of his skin mingled with the faint metallic scent of vibranium, into the way he kissed her tenderly until she kissed him back so forcefully, there was nothing he could do but retaliate. She could feel herself falling into that love with him, considering that maybe falling in love wasn't a thing that happened once and then you were in love and it was done. Falling in love was probably a continual action, something that kept happening and didn't stop happening and Natasha Romanoff was falling in love with James Buchanan Barnes. She had been for a while.

As she considered this, she looked up at James and studied the angles of his face, the light against his hair, just barely long enough to cover the tips of his ears now, and fall into his face when he looked down. She watched him until he looked back up at her and smiled gently. She could feel the corner of her mouth rising.

"Hello, James," she said and his smile grew a little.

"Hello, Natalia," he replied in Russian. Then, "You're glad we're here?"

"Yeah," she said back. "I'm glad."

It wasn't a nice restaurant. There was no candle light or waiters in suits and James was still wearing the same shirt from yesterday and Natasha hadn't even bothered to put conditioner in her hair, but she didn't really care. She reached across the table and took the one hand that he had laid on the table, the metal one, hidden under sleeves and gloves, and she could feel him smiling at her.

"What?" He said and let her take his hand.

"I'm not hungry," she said. "Wanna leave?" James was laughing at her now, because he knew what she was implying, and she looked up and suddenly she was laughing too, and he leaned across the table and even though they were in public, he cupped her chin with his gloved hand and kissed her mouth. She kissed him back and reached up both hands to run through his hair.

They left before the manager kicked them out, climbed into the car, and found their hotel quickly.

It was fun, kissing him and being touched by him, and they could hardly take themselves seriously, laughing with each other as Natasha pushed James up against the wall right next to their hotel room and kissed him passionately, one hand flat against the wall behind them and one hand traveling from his hair to his face to his chest to his waist.

"Come on," he muttered, breathless, through kisses. He was smiling. "Let's at least get into the room."

Every second without a hand on him seemed too long and Natasha got the door open fast enough and shoved him inside. He grabbed her by the waist and drew her to him and bent down to kiss down her neck. Her hands were slipping underneath his shirt and sliding across his chest and he pulled away from her for just a second to help her tear off his t-shirt and gloves. She pulled off her own t-shirt and dropped it by their feet and slung her arms around his neck. It wasn't slow. It was frantic and wild, like their time was limited and they couldn't stand another minute apart. It was exciting. It was fun.

"I'm falling in love with you," she whispered to him. He kissed the side of her face, then the other side, then her mouth and her chin and her forehead.

"What, is this a new thing?" He asked and grinned and she was suddenly serious and she shook her head and he leaned in to kiss her again, but she stopped him and grabbed his face and rubbed her thumb across his cheek. Everything slowed and she looked at him, the pout in his mouth, the light in his eyes and both of them half naked. His hands on her waist relaxed just a bit and for a moment, everything stopped. All she could hear was their breathing and the silence underneath that and she let it ring for a few poignant seconds.

"Listen to me," she said and she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his and then pulled back to look into his eyes again. "Listen."

"I'm listening," James whispered.

"I. Love. You," she said, punctuating each word with a kiss to his lips. She moved her hands slowly up his face and tangled her fingers in his hair.

"I love you, too," he said.

"Stay with me," she said back, her voice breathy, still no higher than a whisper. "Stay."

"Okay," he said.

"Promise me you'll never leave," she said. He looked down at her and she watched his eyes go back and forth across her face. He moved his hands across her bare back until he was holding her even closer, pressed together tightly and he bit his lip.

"I promise you," he replied.

"Let me keep you," she said.

"I'm yours," he said.

"I love you," she said again. "I'll never stop falling in love with you."

"I'll love you forever," James replied and he was smiling and she was smiling because it was cheesy and romantic and corny and because she never thought she'd be able to say that to anyone. Not like this. "Til death do us part." Natasha couldn't even try to stop the smiling now and she studied his sweet face before attacking him again with kisses and her hands, wandering.

"Good to know," she said as he began to kiss her back. Good to know you love me. "In a world full of lies."


	6. 6 I-70 and almost out of Illinois

6 [I-70 and almost out of Illinois]

The next day, at a gas station in Illinois, nothing was fine.

That morning, he and Natalia had decided to make up for their lost time and they got up early and began driving and had gotten decently far until they had to stop again for gas. This time, Bucky followed Natalia into the convenience store. They had been talking together, deep in a conversation and he couldn't remember what it was about now, but he knew he had been thinking that she was perfect, and then suddenly, a man came up from behind Natalia and Bucky remembered stopping midword to yell in surprise and then everything exploded into a fight.

Bucky turned around in confusion to find someone slashing some sort of knife at his chest and he wasn't able to back away in time and yelled out in pain as he was sliced. Then, almost on some sort of dark, Winter Soldier instinct, Bucky reached up and grabbed the knife out of the air with his left hand, blade-end, and squeezed so hard he crushed it. His attacker's eyes grew wide and then Bucky, with the knife in the air, delivered a hard right-handed punch into the man's nose, sending him flying.

Bucky whirled back around to see Natalia sitting on a man's shoulders, strangling him with a cord and felt memories of war and torture wash over him. He shuddered, but he was given no time to feel the pain because there were more attackers, everywhere, and they were mostly headed for Natalia, so Bucky leapt to her aid.

And again, as he fought, he could practically feel the mask up against his face, feel the knives and guns strapped to his waist.

_Not the Winter Soldier, not the Winter Soldier, I'm not the Winter Soldier_

He stripped off his jacket and tore off his gloves to reveal a sleeveless undershirt, showing off his entire left arm as a sort of threat. He'd grown to appreciate it's power, and even the way it gleamed in the light. And if it would scare off the people trying to hurt him and Nat, well then, he'd appreciate it even better.

_not the winter soldier_

Of course, Nat didn't need much help, when he turned often to give it to her. She was good-his equal if not better, and at the end of the fight, when all the men were down, and there must have been at least ten of them, both Bucky's fists were bloody and he was bending over his knees, feeling panic shiver into his entire body. He was staring down at the floor. He was looking at linoleum tiles covered in blood. He felt pain. He was coming back into himself.

When a hand touched his shoulder, Bucky whirled around defensively and Natalia put her hands up. There was blood splattered across her face. Bucky thought he might puke. She was talking. What was she saying?  
>"... okay, you're okay, okay, my darling, we're safe," she said softly in Russian. Bucky looked down at his hands. He was shaking. Blood was running into the creases between the plates in his hand, highlighting lines in crimson. It was dripping off his right.<p>

"We were attacked," he said, his voice escalating with his panic, his shock. "We were attacked!" Natalia nodded, bobbing her head, and she looked up and around the store. They were the only ones standing. She swallowed audibly and reached up her hands to push back her hair.

Natalia let out a shaking breath and after a minute, her eyes flickered to Bucky and he could see a plan, born out of panic and fear, in her face. She had his arm then and was dragging him back out to the car, almost running. Bucky stumbled behind, trying to keep up, feeling shock set in. He looked down to see a giant slash across his chest, from earlier in the fight. His shirt was ruined, but the cut was closing. He estimated ten or fifteen minutes to being completely closed.

Some of the experiments Hydra had performed on him were successful. Some of those experiments involved healing factors.

"We have to get out of here," Natalia said. "We have to go home. _Now._"

"Not so fast!" A voice cried and Natalia skidded to a stop. Bucky almost ran into her. His heart was pounding, he felt sick with fear and confusion. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't know what was going on.

The voice was on the gas station loudspeakers. It was a woman. She sounded young and she was speaking Russian. Natalia's fingers tightened around Bucky's forearm and he winced. He saw a bruise there from the fight under her hand, fading already. Bucky watched Natalia look around above her at the speakers frantically.

"Keep going," she decided in a panicked voice and began to pull Bucky again. "Ignore it."

"Another step and I'll shoot your boyfriend," the voice threatened and Natalia stopped again. She looked back at Bucky and he watched her gasp.

"Hold still, James," she instructed.

"What?" Bucky asked breathlessly. In truth, he was barely processing everything that was was too stunned to react.

"Sniper pointed at your forehead," she said and Bucky's mouth went dry and he watched her position herself in front of him.

"No, Nat," he protested.

"Shush," she cut him off from in front of him. He wasn't even sure if her using herself as a shield would do much good. She was too short to even clear his head, probably didn't divert the sniper whatsoever. He felt relieved and let her stand in front of him.

"Who are you!" Natalia screamed. She was reaching behind her and holding both of Bucky's bloody hands in hers and squeezed his right. He squeezed back. Slowly, she was inching with him towards the car. "What do you want?!"

The voice on the loudspeakers laughed.

"I'll tell you soon, Natalia," she said. "I'll introduce myself when we meet. But for now, you can't leave. You can't go home." The voice grew dark again. "Not if you want Captain America to live." Bucky tensed up.

"Steve," he breathed.

"Don't touch Steve!" Natalia yelled up at the loudspeakers. "What has he got to do with this?"

"Nothing," the voice answered casually. "He's just leverage. But he'll become a part of it all too quickly if you ignore my warnings. Don't try to go back to DC."

"Why," Natalia said.

"Because I want you on the run," the voice hissed. Bucky felt chills go down his back. He gripped Natalia's hands tighter. She inched him closer to the car.

"What's going on," Bucky whispered to Natalia. "Nat-"

"Your DC plane tickets are false," the voice began to brag. "All your safe houses are breached. I have all of your secret identities-new and old-on record."

"I don't understand," Bucky heard Natalia mutter, horrified. "I'm so careful, I tried to be cautious…"

"It's not your fault, Natalia," the voice said and it gained an edge of arrogance. Bucky almost thought he could hear a smirk behind the loudspeakers. "Truly, you did your best. I'm just better than you is all."

"On my count, _run_," Natalia whispered to Bucky behind her through clenched teeth. "One, two, THREE!" Natalia let go of Bucky's hands and bolted for the car and Bucky ran frantically after her. He saw out of the corner of his eye a red dot of light he recognized on the ground near him and pumped his arms, trying to run faster when BLAM !

He heard the shot and felt the all too familiar tearing as a bullet embedded itself deep into his right shoulder.

"Aah!" Bucky screamed, but he didn't stop. If anything, he went faster until he met the car and both he and Natalia threw themselves into the seats. He could feel his shoulder become hot with pain and blood.

"I warned you, Romanova," the loudspeaker woman shouted. "It's your fault he's shot!"

"You're shot?!" Natalia cried from the driver's seat, turning to look at Bucky. Bucky looked at her, in pain and alarmed, adrenaline racing through him along with the fear. His left hand was closed around the bullet hole and he was starting to see black from the pain.

"Drive!" He screamed frantically. "Drive!" Natalia didn't need any more prompting. She pressed the gas pedal to the floor and raced out of the gas station in a panic.


	7. 7 racing on I-70 to get out of Illinois

7 [racing on I-70 to get out of Illinois]

Bucky gripped his shoulder hard and now he had more than a few scrapes and bruises from a fight to worry about. He could heal well, that was true, but a bullet in his shoulder was something to worry about.

The pain was dizzying. He was blinking and hyperventilating and panicking.

"We have to find a hospital," Natalia said frantically. She was gripping the wheel so tightly that her fingers were turning white. Blood was still drying on her face and in her hair. Bucky was beginning to lose consciousness.

"Uuuuugh," he groaned. Natalia glanced over at him and her eyes widened. He looked down at himself to see blood everywhere. His shirt was soaked in it, both others and his own from the knife wound in his chest, not healing as fast as he wished it would. His shoulder was gushing.

"Try to stop the bleeding!" Natalia said and Bucky looked up at her slowly. He couldn't quite see straight.

"Um," he said.

"Damn it!" Natalia screamed and slapped the wheel with her hands. Bucky jumped and the edges of his vision were growing black around the edges black edges he couldn't

see her?

Vision to black vision to black in and out

until

Bucky finally lost consciousness completely and his head dropped against the back of the chair and his hand fell away from his shoulder, smearing red down the upholstery. Natalia screamed shrilly.

He woke up later in a hospital.

"Nat," he tried to say, or rather, croaked, because his throat was raw and he felt like death all over. He saw Natalia standing above him and then the rest of the world clicked into place; white ceiling, bright lights, cold, thin sheets. He shuddered because he hated hospitals, but it hurt to do so.

"I'm here, James," Natalia said and dropped down into a chair and he glanced down to see she was holding his metal hand in both of hers and regretted that he couldn't feel it. He tried to cup her hands in his right, but his shoulder screamed and he gasped and dropped his hand.

"Shot," he breathed. "Oh. Yeah."

"It'll be better soon," Natalia said. "The doctors said with your serum, you'll only need it bandaged for a little less than a week."

"Fun," Bucky said sardonically. He looked over at Natalia then, with shadows under her eyes and her beautiful auburn hair tied back messily behind her head. He took his left hand back from her to push a chunk of her hair back behind her ear and she reached up and took his hand again and held it to her cheek.

"Natalia," Bucky said and slipped into whispered Russian. "Who was that. That woman." Natalia stared at Bucky and pursed her lips and shook her head. She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling.

"I have no clue" she said.

"That stuff, about Steve," Bucky said. "And the plane tickets…"

"I don't think she's bluffing," Natalia said and she let Bucky's hand go so she could run her hands through her hair and push it back exhaustedly. Her words were slurring just a bit like Bucky knew she did when she was tired. He wondered how long he'd been out, and if she'd slept at all. "I checked the tickets online and the site I bought them on is completely gone, like it wasn't even there to begin with. We have no way out. We never did."

"And Steve," Bucky breathed.

"I can't be sure," Natalia said and she sat up. "But I don't want to take my chances. I found these left inside the car a few hours ago." Out of a bag on the ground by Natalia's chair, she took out a handful of photos and set them on Bucky's lap. He looked down and sifted through them and began to feel sick. They were pictures of the inside of Bucky and Natalia's apartment.

"Oh," Bucky gasped.

One photo had been taken from the couch, and the photographer was sitting in front of the coffee table with a few of Natalia's books and drinking something from one of Bucky's mugs.

Another photo was taken standing over their bed. The sheets had been mussed on one side, like the photographer had sat down.

Another photo was of the mirror in the master bedroom, completely covered over in steam as though the photographer had started the shower, and in the steam with their finger had written 'you're on the run now :)' in Russian. However, the figure in the mirror through the steam was only a blur of black.

"It gets worse," Natalia said quietly and Bucky looked over at her, horrified.

"How?" He said, but the next photo answered that question for him because he recognized the image of those broad shoulders from behind, as blurry as he may be, and that clean combed blonde hair. Bucky felt the breath leave his lungs. His mouth went dry. "No," he said and the next image was Steve having turned just barely so his face was unmistakable, innocent and blue-eyed and completely unaware of the camera behind him, snapping blurry pictures from the street. "No."

"I don't want to take any chances," Natalia breathed.

"What do we do," Bucky said and dropped the stack of photos.

"I'll think of something," Natalia said after a while.

"We don't even know who this is," Bucky said and Natalia grit her teeth.

"I know," she said. "But I'll find her, James."

"We have to warn Steve," Bucky said. "We have to call him, tell him to get out of there."

"What if-" Natalia started and Bucky cut her off.

"We have to tell him!" Bucky cried. "He's in just as much danger as us!"

"James," Natalia said. "I don't think she wants us alerting him."

"Screw her," Bucky said and he was reaching for Natalia's cell phone on the table beside them, but she grabbed his hand and stopped him. Her eyes were wide.

"She could _kill him _for knowing too much, James," she said.

"How do you know?" Bucky cried and Natalia's face went white.

"Because that's how I'd do it," she said quietly. "If I were her."


	8. 8 hospital between Missouri and Illinois

8 [hospital straddling the line between Missouri and Illinois]

"Who is this, Natalia," Bucky said. His wrist was still in her grip, although it was his left one and he had the strength to tear himself out of her grasp if he wanted to. Instead, he was staring at her eyes. He'd never seen her so scared. "Who is following us."

"I told you, James, I don't know," Natalia said and she let his hand go and reached up to smooth her hair back nervously. "I'm not lying to you. I'm just trying to think how she would think. I can do that, you know. It wasn't that long ago that I was just like her." Bucky stared.

"You're assuming things, Nat," he said. "We don't know who this is, what she's after."

"But I can guess," Natalia said. "She's probably a hired assassin, with a group of thugs at her disposal. She's probably being paid by someone who got info on me that they didn't like when I dumped SHIELD intel." Bucky didn't know what to say. Unfortunately, Natalia's hypothesis sounded plausible. "Her handiwork is professional. You can't say you aren't impressed, James."

"I'll start being impressed when I stop being so scared I could pee my pants," Bucky retorted, but Natalia was deep in thought and didn't give him much by way of a response.

"I can try to predict her moves," Natalia said thoughtfully. "Out-think her."

"She said she was going to introduce herself soon," Bucky said nervously. "What does that mean?"

"It might be her attack," Natalia said. "When she plans to kills us. But no, wait," Natalia stopped and she bit her lip. "She said she wanted us on the run. She didn't kill us when she had us, when it should have been efficient." Natalia glanced up at Bucky. "Why?" Bucky shrugged, bewildered.

"Maybe your guess isn't as spot-on as you think," he said. "We still have some loose ends."

"_All _we have are loose ends, James," Natalia groaned. "And now you're bed-ridden and we have to make ourselves scarce."

"So much for the Grand Canyon," Bucky said quietly and Natalia stopped and looked at him, sulking. She sighed.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I'm so sorry, James." Bucky looked over at her, her mournful face, and tried to smile at her to convince her not to feel bad.

"Not your fault," he said. "So we've had some… Minor altercations." This made Natalia laugh and Bucky smiled a little wider hearing her.

"Minor altercations that photograph our home and threaten our lives?" She laughed. Bucky shrugged.

"For an ex-spy and ex-mind controlled assassin, what other kind could there be?" He teased and, grinning, Natalia leaned over and kissed his head.

"Promise to be better soon," she said. "And I'll get both of us out of here so fast, our tracker will be left spinning."

"I promise," Bucky said. Natalia's eyes were gleaming. He was glad that he could make her happy.

"I finally get to show off in front of you," she teased. "You haven't seen me put all my unconventional skills to use."

"I've definitely seen some of those skills," Bucky teased back. Natalia rolled her eyes.

"Picking your lock to surprise you doesn't really count," she said and Bucky laughed.

"That wasn't exactly what I meant," he said suggestively and Natalia grinned and scooted forward in her chair to kiss his mouth. He kissed her back until she pulled away and began to stand up.

"Not now, lover boy," she said. "You're on two days bed rest and I'm playing bodyguard until then. I can kiss you silly when you can move your right shoulder and, hey! Don't you dare try, stop it, you're going to hurt yourself!" Natalia cried, laughing, and finally she leaned down and rested a hand on his metal shoulder (could he consider that his 'good' shoulder now? did that count?) and kissed his forehead. "Rest. Try to get some sleep. Concentrate on healing. I'll be just outside."

"Why don't you stay?" Bucky asked and Natalia rolled her eyes as she walked to the door and turned around once she was there, standing just outside the doorway and leaning on the frame.

"Because you're tempting," she said with her trademark smirk. "And I don't want to hurt your shoulder with any of my 'unconventional skills' that you know so much about." Bucky laughed loudly at this and she blew him one last kiss and shut the door and once she was gone, reality began to settle over him, that this lovers vacation had turned sour, no matter how often he made her laugh or delighted her. They were on the run. They were in danger. Even Steve, miles and miles away, was in danger, and nothing was fine. Bucky shuddered and pressed himself further into the mattress, as though he could disappear and hide from it all. This wouldn't be fun.

It'd be nice to have it all stop for once. It'd be nice to have something normal. But Bucky supposed he couldn't want that anymore. And the way their lives had worked out in the past told him that neither of them would get out of this unscarred, if, he thought, they got out at all.


	9. 9 Missouri? Maybe?

9 [Missouri? Maybe?]

Bucky was released from the hospital the next day and, as always, told to take it easy. However, he knew he had no time to rest and the moment he'd changed back into his clothes, wincing as Natalia helped him pull a shirt over the healing bullet wound in his arm, they were on the road again. Natalia sped away from the hospital.

"It's no question whether she knows where we are," Natalia said to Bucky as she got onto the highway. "We need to lose her."

They took every back road and shady ramp they could find, going fast, following twisting roads and trying to blend in, trying to get themselves so lost that not even they knew where they were.

"I haven't seen anyone following us for a few miles," Bucky said, twisting in his seat to stare out the back window. He tried to turn further and sharp pain in his shoulder had him biting back an exclamation.

"Sit down," Natalia instructed. "You're gonna hurt yourself." Bucky dropped back down onto his seat and tried to massage his shoulder with his left hand, but it only made the pain worse. He ground his teeth together.

"Where are we?" Bucky asked. Natalia looked around.

"No idea," she said. There was a long period of silence as Bucky considered this.

"What if," he said quietly and stopped and frowned.

"What?" Natalia asked.

"What if this is something we can't get out of?" Bucky asked, speaking fast, becoming nervous. "What if we've walked into something big and we don't walk out this time? What if Steve-"

"Don't!" Natalia said sharply and Bucky stiffened and sucked in a breath. He shut down, hurt, and looked away from her. Natalia softened. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'm sorry." She looked over at him as he stared at nothing through the windshield in front of them, concern in his face and his mouth pouting. "I didn't mean to snap, I just-"

"I know, I know," Bucky said and he really did understand. They were both stressed. He could see it in Natalia's eyes, the darkness of the circles under them, and the way she was smiling less. There was fear in her. Neither of them had expected something like this. Natalia sighed loudly and glanced back over at him.

"I love you," she said, and she said it matter-of-factly, with a surety. "You're one of the most important people to keep walking back into my life and I swear, James, you're going to live. No matter what, you're gonna see the end of this. I promise you."

"No, no," Bucky said and he turned to look at her. "No, don't pull that." Natalia frowned, her eyebrows furrowing.

"What are you talking about?" Natalia said.

"I can hear the insinuation in that, Nat," Bucky replied. "And if we die, we die together. There's not going to be any self-sacrificing here. It's you and me, okay? I'll stay with you forever, so don't think that you can tell me to run, because I won't."

"James," Natalia said and Bucky raised his voice.

"I'm serious!" He cried. "I won't have it! If you die here," Bucky stopped and shrugged. "I die too. And that's all there is to it." Natalia stared forward at the road with a frightened look on her face and Bucky watched her. Finally, she let out a breath and a weak laugh.

"You sure are stubborn," she said. "Try being a little more selfish sometime. Save yourself every once in a while."

"Ha ha," Bucky said sarcastically and, smiling, shook his head.

"Really!" Natalia cried teasingly. "Your loyalty is sickening! You're too perfect!"

"Nat, this was a serious conversation," Bucky said, but he couldn't help but laugh. "And besides," he added, playing along. "I have to be perfect to try and compete with you."

"Oh, no," Natalia said. "We have to pull over. This is too sappy, I'm gonna be sick." Bucky laughed and smiled at her, but his smile slowly fell and the quiet in the car drove them into somberness again.

"I was serious," he said to her, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. She nodded slowly, pursing her lips. "I've never been more serious in my life."

"I know," she replied. "I just don't want you to have to suffer."

"I'd rather join you than not suffer at all," he said and she took a deep breath.

"I know," she said again, in a whisper so quiet he almost couldn't hear. "That's one of the things I admire about you."

Later that night, after it was so dark and so late that both Natalia and Bucky couldn't keep their eyes open, no matter how many times they switched driving for car seat cat naps, they decided to stop and try to sleep somewhere. Cheap motels weren't hard to find and when they found one, they both collapsed exhaustedly into their room.

"This is so dangerous," Natalia said and her words ran together out of tiredness. Bucky leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"I know," he said. "But what other choice do we have?"

Before he collapsed into the bed next to Natalia, who was fast falling asleep, he texted Steve.

"Hey," he wrote. "know its late, but i wanted to let you know nat and i are in missouri. were doin good. ill call you in the morning."

"Steve will know now," he said to her as he dropped on top of the sheets. "If something happens. I promised to call and if I don't…"

"That's clever," Natalia muttered. "But is it smart."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Bucky said tiredly into his pillow.

"James," Natalia said and she looked over at him and waited until he opened his eyes. "If he knows too much…"

"He doesn't," Bucky said. "I promise. It's just a precaution." But Natalia had fallen asleep before she could answer and Bucky left the lamp on across the room and fell asleep next to her.

__

_To those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, Happy Thanksgiving! But whether you celebrate or not, please enjoy the two chapters I've posted today. :) -BB_


	10. 10 ?

10 [?]

When Natasha woke up, she realized with an indescribable horror that she wasn't in bed with James anymore. Instead, she was sitting up, propped up against a wall, and her hands were tied painfully tight behind her back.

Oh no, she thought and for a while, she could think nothing but that because fear had taken her use of words and all she felt, the fear and the panic, was too overwhelming to think through. She fell back onto all instinct.

Wherever she was, it was dark and cold. The ground was hard beneath her and she thought the wall behind her was some sort of metal.

After processing all this, Natasha immediately began to try to work her hands out of the binds behind her. She had to free herself, she had to find James, she had to get him safe. She had to find whoever had done this and kill them.

After a while, even though the rope began to bite into her wrists and she could feel beads of blood rolling down her fingers, she managed to slip her hands out, one at a time, working them and biting the inside of her mouth to distract herself from the pain. When her hands were free, bruised and bloody, she leaned forward and began to work on the binds around her feet.

"I can hear you," said a voice. It was the woman from the gas station and Natasha froze. "Since you're awake, I suppose I can turn on the lights now." Suddenly, Natasha was blinded by white light and she threw up her hands to shield her eyes and gasped. Slowly, the world around her became visible and Natasha was afraid and stunned. She was in some sort of warehouse, and fluorescent lights were strung from the ceiling. She was on the ground, sitting in the dirt, and when she looked up, she saw James across the room and gasped. He was upright, tied to some wooden support beam, his head hanging and his shoulders slumped, and then Natasha noticed the woman next to him, pulling a syringe out of his arm.

The woman was another shock in and of herself and Natasha could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed and utterly stunned. She was wearing Natasha's Black Widow uniform, or at least a uniform almost exactly like it with the torso cut out. She even had Natasha's Widow's Bites on her wrists and the red diamond insignia on her belt. Natasha didn't know how to respond and she stared in horror.

The woman tossed the empty syringe on the ground and looked from Natasha back over to James.

"Don't worry about him," the woman said nonchalantly and she reached over and took James's face in one gloved hand, raising it up into the light so she could look at him. Natasha flinched. She didn't like her touching him. In the light, she could see that he had bruises blooming on his cheeks and his eyes were closed. "He's out." The woman glanced back over at Natasha and almost looked like she would smile. "And don't think his healing factor will wake him up any sooner. I've done my homework, I've read your files." She did smile now, and she looked proud of herself. "I got the good stuff. He won't get up for several hours so it's just you-" The woman grinned wider and turned her head. "And me."

She was blonde, with a fair complexion and short hair, curls turning about her face. It was almost ironic, because her sweet smile, big blue eyes and round pink cheeks reminded Natasha of some sort of angel. She looked like a porcelain doll. If Natasha hadn't known better, she would assume this girl was just out of high school and hadn't done a questionable thing in her life.

"My name is Yelena Belova," the girl said and she let James' chin drop back down to his chest as though she'd forgotten about him and she began to step towards Natasha. Frantically, Natasha ripped the binds from around her ankles until they tore and, shakily, she pushed herself to her feet.

"Stop," she said, holding out one palm. "Stop right there, don't come any closer."

"Oh," Yelena said and, her eyes glittering as though she was daring Natasha, took another long step. "I'm afraid you're not the one with the power here, Natalia."

"Don't call me that," Natasha said and Yelena laughed.

"Why? Is it because that's what _he_ calls you?" She said, nodding back to James and Natasha swallowed.

"You're gonna tell me exactly who you are," Natasha said darkly, readying herself for a fight and keeping one eye on James' slumped form. "What you want and why you're wearing my uniform. And then I'm going to make you never want to cross me again." Yelena sighed, her shoulders rising and falling, and she leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest.

"I suppose," she said. "I was going to tell you anyway. But first, Natalia, one question. Do you remember the Red Room?" Natasha ground her teeth together and refused to answer, but she felt fear wash over her at the sound of the name. She didn't know where this was going. All she knew was that she and James were in danger, she didn't know where they were or how they got there, and this woman was wearing her clothes. She was afraid. Yelena gave Natasha a minute to respond, and when it became clear that she refused to, Yelena's face darkened. "The Red Room. With Hydra. In Russia."

"What about it," Natasha spat.

"I was trained there," Yelena cried. "Before you and your boyfriend shut it down, I _ruled_ the Red Room! I owned it! And you know what was even better? I beat you, Natasha Romanoff! I beat the famous Natalia Romanova, I surpassed all of your marks, I am your equal and better! I own you!" Yelena's voice rose until she was yelling. Her face transformed then from the sweet, rosy cheeked girl into something Natasha had never seen before. Yelena had rage. Natasha could see it and she almost shuddered.

"I'm not afraid of you," Natasha said under her breath.

You want to get angry, Belova? I can get angry, too.

"I know you aren't now," Yelena said. "But you will be. I will make you so afraid, Natalia."

There was a second there where they heated the silence with their glares, both tensed to pounce like coiled springs and Natasha didn't know if Yelena would attack or not. She kept her eyes on Yelena's.

"It must be obvious then," Yelena said after a while, her words thick in the silence. "What I want."

"Humor me," Natasha hissed back and then, to Natasha's surprise, Yelena stepped back. Her shoulders relaxed and the anger drained from her face. She was grinning now, smugly.

"I am your better, Romanova," Yelena said. "I deserve your title. I deserve your name." Natasha felt chills run down her spine. That hadn't been what she had expected.

"What," she said.

"You heard me!" Yelena cried. "I'm out to take what I deserve. I am the Black Widow!" Natasha stared in horror. Yelena kept talking, she was saying something about how Natasha was a traitor to Russia, how she didn't deserve to be the Black Widow, but Natasha was infuriated.

"How dare you," she hissed and leapt at Yelena. In an instant, Yelena retaliated and she kicked Natasha square in the chest. Natasha flew backwards and hit the ground, the breath out of her lungs, but she wasn't down for long and she attacked again, despite the fact that she was entirely weaponless. She had her hands around Yelena's throat and was throwing her to the ground. Yelena hit the floor, blonde curls bouncing, and Natasha landed on top of her, still reaching for her throat.

"You insult me!" she cried. "You threaten my boyfriend and close friends! You breach my privacy to scare me!" But before Natasha could finish, Yelena reached up and pressed her Widow's Bites to Natasha's chest and shot. Natasha felt electricity rock through her and she screamed and in that second, Yelena turned the tides and was slamming Natasha to the ground.

"You listen to me!" She screamed back, yelling in Natasha's face and Natasha almost couldn't hear through the pain roaring in her veins. "You listen! I was going to let you live! I'm giving you options!" As Natasha tried to recover from the shock coursing inside her, Yelena dragged herself to her feet and brought the heel of her foot down in Natasha's gut. The pain was horrible and she had no breath. "Stay down! Don't move!" Yelena cried. Natasha thought she was going to throw up and she wrapped her arms around her torso and curled there, feeling blood sting the back of her throat. She groaned in pain. She looked up to see Yelena walking quicking to James. She took his hair in her fist and brought his face up again, pointing her free hand to his chest, her Widow's Bite sparking with electricity. "Don't," Yelena threatened in a low voice. "Move." Natasha winced and held herself in an even tighter ball, trying to watch Yelena through the pain. Yelena looked over at James and then she was touching his face with her free hand, running a finger along his jawline slowly. Natasha stared in horror.

"He's beautiful," she told Natasha and she let go of his hair and instead cupped his chin. "Those cheekbones," she said.

"Don't touch him," Natasha said, but she had trouble saying the words because the kick delivered in her gut had knocked the wind out of her again. She was in pain, but for James, she stayed down. "How dare you touch him."

"Option one," Yelena said, ignoring Natasha as she admired James. "You _give _me the title. You admit that I, Yelena Belova, am better suited to be the Black Widow, and I let you and handsome here go without a scratch." Yelena looked over at Natasha and smiled sweetly. "You marry him, the man of your dreams, and dance off into the sunset to buy a house with a picket fence and have beautiful babies with the Winter Soldier and live out the rest of your days in bliss." Then, Yelena's smile turned cold and she dropped James' face again. "Option two. You remain stubborn and I let you go for now, but I break every bone in his body and I send you both on the run so I can publicly humiliate and invalidate you before murdering you both brutally so everybody knows just who is the better Black Widow, once and for all." Natasha took a deep breath and tried to sit up, spitting out blood onto the ground. Yelena sauntered over to her, glowing, electric weapons at the ends of each arm swinging at her side.

"The easy way," Yelena said cheerfully. "With a happy little wedding and a cute, two-story house and the whole sitcom-style American Dream; settled down and out of my way. Or the hard way, where you watch everyone you love die and I make you beg for your life before I slit your throat." She crouched down to look Natasha in the eye. "What do you say?"

Natasha glared at Yelena hatefully and spat blood in her face. It was cliche, sure, but it sent a powerful message. What did Yelena expect, after all?

"I say go to hell," Natasha hissed and Yelena's face grew dark as she wiped spots of red off her cheek.

"You…," she said, enraged. "You!"

"Go ahead!" Natasha cried. "Hurt me! Chase us! I'd never hand over my title to some insolent little brat!" Yelena jumped to her feet and Natasha felt it before she even saw it, Yelena's foot connecting with the side of her head. Fireworks shot off in her skull and she gasped and collapsed again. Her vision was filled with burning white spots.

"I admired you!" Yelena cried. "I'm trying to honor you! Look!" She pointed across the room at James. "Don't you want him!? You always hated this life, everyone knows that, you despised it! But I want this! Give it to me! And go be happy!"

Natasha wanted to respond, but she didn't think she could. She reached up and touched her head and found blood.

"I," she choked. "Am the Black Widow."

"I can't believe I ever idolized you," Yelena spat, glaring down at Natasha on the ground, and then she looked back over at James and walked over to him, spite hardening her innocent features. Natasha stared, trying to scramble to her feet as her head spun and Yelena grabbed James' shoulders, his arms and chest tied back to the support beam, and she kneed him hard in the gut. Natasha screamed and she could hear him cry out, even as he was unconscious. Yelena hit him again and there was a cracking sound and he was starting to choke on blood. Natasha dragged herself to her feet and stumbled to Yelena, grabbing her by the shoulder and whirling her around and landing a punch hard right into her face. Yelena stumbled backwards and hit the ground and Natasha reached down and grabbed her by the collar and yanked her up again and continued to hit her, until one of Yelena's feet came out and kicked her in the stomach, pushing her away. She ran after Natasha and grabbed her by the hair and started to hit her head again, where there was already blood, and Natasha screamed and reached up to grab Yelena's hand. She caught her fist and twisted it until she heard something snap and Yelena cried out. She dropped Natasha and backed away, holding her hand to her chest. It was twisted in a direction it shouldn't be and Yelena was gasping.

"Fine!" She breathed, her voice rising, fast and frantic, almost to the point of becoming hoarse. "Fine! You've made your choice and you've damned yourself! When he dies, when you die, when I kill _everyone you know_, it'll be _all your fault_!" She screamed. Natasha, from where she had hit the ground, screamed back at her, blood in her mouth, not even forming words, just screaming, until Yelena backed away, turned, and then ran.

_What do you guys think? I was _so _excited to be able to include this character in my work. For those who are unfamiliar with the comic universe, Yelena Belova is, in fact, _not _an OC of mine. Instead, she is one of Natasha's primary nemeses and she is utterly incredible. I hope that through this work, I'll be able to express the depth this character has and the wonderful conflicts she can present._

_In the meantime, look her up! If you want a comics rec, try this list. It has a lot of Yelena in it and I think they're all worth a read: __ . _ _-BB_


	11. 11 Yelena's Warehouse

11 [Yelena's Warehouse]

Natasha scrambled to her feet and ran after Yelena, but by the time she got outside, all she could see was the sun rising just barely over the horizon and Yelena was entirely gone. Shaking with fear and adrenaline and pain, Natasha slunk back into the warehouse and stumbled to James. She picked up his face and brushed his hair back and pressed anxious kisses to his skin.

"I'm so sorry, my darling, I'm sorry," she said and she reached around him and began to undo the straps that held him. Once he was free, he slumped against her and she caught him and gently laid him down. Yelena had torn the stitches in his right shoulder and he was bleeding and she found bruises slowly disappearing on his face. Overwhelmed and now alone, patching up what she could of his shoulder, Natasha was blinking back tears.

She found the car waiting for them outside and half-carried, half-dragged James out to it. She pulled him into the back seat so he had something nicer to lay on and, with both doors open, she slid into the back with him and put his head in her lap tiredly. She put her head against the headrest behind her and closed her eyes as she ran her hands slowly through his hair, waiting for him to wake up.

It took several hours and Natasha fell asleep a few times, but after a long time, she began to feel James stir in her lap. She opened her eyes and looked down as James' eyes fluttered open and he started to mumble.

"Hey," she said to him quietly and brushed some of his hair out of his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Was I hit by a truck?" He groaned and she smiled a little.

"Worse," she replied and picked up his hand, dangling off the other side of the seat, and kissed it. "Our stalker introduced herself." She watched James blink and swallow, processing this.

"I missed something," he said.

"I'll explain," Natasha said and she held James' hand and talked, told him everything, and after a while, he sat up, groaning and wincing, and she told him about how he'd been hurt, how they'd both been injured, and she wrapped her arms around him as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Her name is Yelena," Natasha said. "She's left over from the Red Room." James swallowed and scrubbed his face.

"What does she want?" He asked and Natasha leaned back and pursed her lips.

"My name," she said and then she looked over at James. "She wants to be the Black Widow."

"What?" James said incredulously and Natasha continued. She described the ultimatum and her response and James looked afraid.

"This was never what we wanted," he breathed, but Natasha remained too angry to mourn the loss of their vacation.

They inspected the car for traps and soon after finding it clean, started it up and began to drive away. A few miles later, James was on the phone with Steve.

"No, no, we're fine," he was saying, his eyes on Natasha as she tried to find the road again. She was giving him cues, trying to help him lie to Steve. "Really."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Steve, I swear, I just forgot my phone in the hotel. I'm sorry I didn't get your calls," James said. "We're okay."

Another pause as Steve spoke and all Natasha could hear was mumbling.

"Hey," James said suddenly and Natasha glanced over at him. He wasn't looking at her anymore. "We'll, uh, we'll be home soon. I promise. … No, I am _not_ lying!"

At this point, Natasha could see James failing and she reached over and snatched the phone from his hands and put it to her ear.

"Steve," she said and grinned. "It's good to hear from you!"

"Tasha, what's wrong?" Steve said and Natasha laughed.

"We had a mix-up this morning," she lied. "James left some things and we got an hour or two away before we realized we had to turn around."

Natasha was able to calm Steve and hang up and she frowned at James when she handed the phone back.

"That was a bad idea," she said and James looked down at the phone in his hands almost sheepishly. "We _have _to be discrete about this."

"I'm not used to lying to him," James replied and Natasha sighed and looked forward out the windshield.

"Welcome to my world," she said bitterly and she could feel James look over at her with an expression that read pity. He bit his lip and looked away and after a while, he looked back up and spoke again.

"So what now?" James said.

"Now, we hunt Belova down," Natasha said angrily. "And we make her pay."


	12. 12 a hotel somewhere in Nebraska

12 [a hotel somewhere in Nebraska]

Later that evening, Natalia didn't join Bucky in bed, even though it had been such a long day and he knew she was exhausted and he begged her just to lay down. She was sitting in a chair across the room from him, the glow from her computer lighting up her face, and Bucky stood in his boxers and bruises next to the still-made bed because he didn't want to sleep without her.

"You need to rest," he said, for the millionth time that night, and his voice was growing weary. _He_ was growing weary. He sat down on top of the sheets and turned to look at her. She didn't look up and Bucky didn't know what to do.

"I will," she said. "I'm busy."

She was working. Digging up info on Belova while they had some time. She'd already told him this, as he'd begged her to put it up. It's important, she had insisted, as though she thought he might have forgotten that earlier that morning, he'd been drugged and tied to a post and though he might have forgotten that Steve's life had been threatened and had forgotten that this was their life and it was important.

But it was late. He was tired, and becoming irritable and frustrated and more and more exhausted and it was important, but he didn't _want_ it then.

After all, it had been a hard day. He knew it was important, but he just… Well, to be honest, there was nothing he could imagine that could be more comforting than being held by her, and just being touched. But he didn't know how to say that and he didn't want to sound pitiful because he already had so little pride to begin with, so instead, he sat there, his eyes growing heavier, his shoulders slumping further, and a sadness growing in his chest that told him that maybe, it would have been best if they hadn't come.

And Bucky thought, in his tiredness, of something more restful than the life they were living. That maybe there could be something happier, one day. He didn't like the threatening, he didn't like the momentum, he didn't like the fear. It had been his life for years and now, well, to be honest, what Natasha had repeated back to him about what Yelena Belova had said didn't seem so horrible. American dream, she had said. Marry the Winter Soldier and dance off into the sunset. That couldn't be so awful, now could it?

It wasn't the first time he'd thought of this idea presented by Belova, of normalcy and happiness and daring to even think of a dream he'd had years and years and years ago, back when it seemed plausible. Something normal. A family. Somewhere surrounded by love. A nice home. Being a husband. It seemed so ideal, so picturesque, as though he could move on from the hell that had become him.

And he wanted to be with Natalia. For as long as they lived. He wanted something so solid as to marry her. And he hadn't exactly said anything, but he knew that it wouldn't happen. He almost sighed out loud with the heaviness in his heart. It wasn't something she wanted.

At 3:20 AM, Bucky couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and he fell into sleep alone.

At 4:50 AM, he became noticeably fitful, and Natasha, still awake under the lamp across the room, looked up from the information she was sifting through to see him stirring. She stood up and set her laptop down and hurried to him on the bed. He was mumbling, and moving, unsettled, until she sat next to him and put her hands on his skin, gingerly avoiding the black and purple colors of pain across his bare chest. By morning, they would be almost gone, but it hurt her to see them regardless. She leaned down and kissed his hair and rubbed her thumb against his flesh until his goosebumps disappeared and he stopped twisting.

"Come on," she whispered to him. "Come on, shh."

When James was alright and when he had quieted down, Natasha stood up again and went back to her work.

She hadn't been able to find much. This Yelena Belova was good, and Natasha was afraid that she didn't have the materials to conduct the sort of real, thorough search she wanted to. But she had found something, or at least hints of something.

There were photos online and in the databases she searched. Most of what she came up with were blurry or corrupted, as though Belova had searched first and cleansed the world of her footprint. Natasha hated the way it reminded her of herself, but she got an image or two. A shot with a recognizable face in the corner, and the photo labeled only, 'Moscow'. An tourist picture with a head of blonde curls in the distant background from 2005. She found scraps like these but rarely anything truly helpful. After all, she didn't need Yelena Belova's portraiture.

Then, finally, after hours of searching, she found something real. A photocopy of a scratched out birth certificate, but through the blacked-out portions she could almost read a name in smudged Russian, and a year. Yelena Belova. Born in Russia in 1993. Natasha would have celebrated, if she had let herself.

But before she could continue, almost without warning, James began to scream in his sleep. Natasha jumped and her laptop fell and James was thrashing and yelling, as though a switch had been flipped. Natasha reacted as fast as she could and she ran to his side, narrowly avoiding his swinging metal fist.

"Ah!" James screamed and Natasha, scared now that they'd be kicked out of the hotel and that James could be hurting himself, grabbed his flesh hand, the one that couldn't use super strength to pull away from her, and tried as best as she could to hold him down.

"James!" She cried and reached up to grab his shoulder. "James Barnes, _wake up!_"

It took a frighteningly long time to rouse him, but even once Natasha had James awake, his panic didn't subside.

We'll have to leave the hotel, she thought. They're going to kick us out, as fast as they can get up here.

Her search for Belova was almost entirely derailed. She'd hoped for more, but that was all the work she'd be able to do that night and she knew it now.

She was kneeling on the bed next to James and he was sitting up, his face buried in her neck, his arms tight around her, even though her bruised ribs protested, shaking violently. He was breathing heavily and he'd keep screaming until she squeezed him and put a hand on his head.

There was no question about his panic, because she knew it was nightmares of torture and murder, although it had been a long time since he'd had a night as bad as this. It was the sudden stress, she thought. The kidnapping by Yelena, the threats, the beating. It wasn't supposed to happen. There should have been a way out. They shouldn't have come.

"Oh, my darling," Natasha breathed into his hair as he clung to her. "I only wanted to make you happy."

As Natasha had expected, in minutes, there was rapping on the door and yelling and James held her tighter, consumed with fear, until she calmed him enough to let him go for just a minute before the security guards threw the door down.

They must have been an awful sight, all tired eyes and sweat, and James was undeniably recognizable the instant the guards saw the metal climbing into his flesh.

Out. On the street outside, with their bags at their feet and a blanket around James' bare shoulders and a threat to call the police if they didn't leave. Natasha thought she'd never been so tired. Not in a long time.


	13. 13 a hotel somewhere in Nebraska

13 [a hotel somewhere in Nebraska]

In the car, James leaned over his knees, trying to breathe, and Natasha sat in the drivers seat and tried to comfort him.

"It's okay, you're okay," she was saying, like she did, over and over and over, until James could lift his head out of his hands and look at her. "They're gone," she said and she meant Hydra.

"I'm sorry," James whispered hollowly and Natasha looked at his face, shining wet with sweat and tears, and wished she actually knew what to do.

"Don't apologize," she said. "It's not your fault, you know."

"But…," James said and Natasha leaned back over to turn the key in the ignition and start the car. "It is." And before either of them could say more, he let out a gasp, an 'ooh', and shuddered again, putting his hands over his face, starting again to breathe heavily.

"Don't think about it," Natasha said. "Come on, let's think of something different, it's over, okay? And you're never going back."

James didn't respond and Natasha let the quiet be for a while, but she knew it was only sending him spiraling further, back into the shaking, the screaming, the crying. She swallowed and sighed and began to fill the silence.

"Something I never told you," she said and he looked over as she drove through the dark. "I was in your situation once. Sort of. I know what it's like to feel what you feel, if at least a fraction."

"What do you mean?" James asked quietly and Natasha frowned.

"After the Red Room," she said. "And the KGB. After all that, Clint found me and dragged me out because he's kind like that, and good, and he's better at seeing goodness in others than he is at seeing the darkness."

"Sounds like-," James said and Natasha almost laughed.

"Steve," she finished for him. "Sounds like Steve, I know. He and Clint are something alike, I think. That's probably why I hit it off with him so well; because he reminded me of Barton. Not in his mannerisms, because Steve is…," Natasha smiled and she glanced over and James was almost smiling too. Well, if not smiling, at least not screaming. "Different. But they're both heroes for a reason." She looked down at the steering wheel under her hands, thought about how nice it was to not be thinking about Yelena Belova for at least one minute because she felt as though a lot of time and thought would be poured into Belova over the next few weeks at least. "Anyway, Clint pulled me out and I was a mess. It was scary, and I…," Natasha smiled sadly and shrugged. "I spent a lot of time recovering."

"Why did you never tell me?" James asked and Natasha shrugged one shoulder.

"I don't know," she said. "Force of habit? I'm a private person."

"I'm your boyfriend," James exclaimed. "You can tell me these things, you know."

"I know," Natasha said.

"What all happened?" James continued. "Were you okay?"

"I was, eventually," Natasha said. "And I didn't go through the things you did, James. I had a different story. But after a time, I got better. I joined the Avengers, I got you. And everything sort of fell into place, but yeah. I was okay."

"How," James said and Natasha realized he wanted more. He wanted the whole story and so Natasha sighed and readied herself to talk.

After all, if it was helping James away from his fear, she'd do anything.

"I lived with him for a time," Natasha said. "Clint, he got me out of there and kept me. I laid low, hiding from the people who'd come after me, and there were many, but something told me it was worth it. I didn't want to be there, doing those things anymore." Natasha swallowed as she thought, remembering. "It was really hard. I had to reinvent who the Black Widow was supposed to be and that… It changed me."

"You and Clint are close," James said and Natasha looked over at him and rolled her eyes playfully.

"I never even dated him, James," she said teasingly. "You don't have to compete, I promise."

"I didn't say that!" James replied defensively, but she could hear the lie in his voice and she laughed. "But… Was there ever anything…," he continued, trailing off. Natasha looked over at him and smiled. "I'm just curious, I swear," he added, throwing up his hands. Natasha nodded.

"We never did more than kiss once or twice," she admitted. "And there might have been something, but he was too shy and I was too much of a mess. It never went anywhere." She sighed and shrugged again. "By the time I was alright enough to even consider a relationship, the attraction had faded. Now, we're just good friends and I'm glad." Natasha looked over at James, who had been staring at her, and she leaned over to briefly brush his cheek with her kiss. "Now, I have you." James smiled weakly at her and he reached over and grabbed her hand with his left, warm and entirely smooth except for the hairline splits in the metal where his fingers bent around hers. She took her hand away from the wheel so she could hold his and looked at the road, thinking. "I'll always have a debt to Clint, though," Natasha added quietly as she squeezed his hand. "He helped me become a completely different person, and I like that person a lot better. I never thought the Black Widow could change, but I guess I was wrong."

"I can't believe you never shared that with me," James said quietly after a while. "It seems important to you."

"It was," Natasha said and a minute passed before he spoke again.

"Will you promise me something?" James asked.

"What?" Natasha said and she looked over at James. He was looking down at their hands, rubbing his thumb so carefully against the back of her hand.

"Be more open with me," he said. "Tell me the things that matter to you. I want to know everything about you."

Natasha didn't know what to think. Of course she would promise him, but she never quite understood why it mattered. Surely he understood that the past didn't shape them, not really. And it didn't matter. After all, Natasha's past, her inside, the things that meant something to her, well, she was used to hiding them. Natasha Romanoff went unseen.


	14. 14 hotel too close to Natasha and Bucky

14 [in a hotel scarily close to Natasha and Bucky]

Yelena Belova held the phone to her face as she stood in her hotel room, staring at the wall.

"We did not send you there to play _games_, child!" The man on the other end yelled. It was her father. "You aren't there to play cat and mouse; you are there to kill the Black Widow!"

"I know!" Yelena cried and she grit her teeth. "I know. And I will."

"This," the man spat. "Is not efficient." Yelena pursed her lips and balled up her free hand into a fist in frustration.

"Just let me have this," she said back. "This one thing."

"Why?" The man said.

Because I'm better than her, Yelena thought desperately. Because I want to know I'm better.

And part of Yelena, as much as she didn't want to admit it, knew she didn't want to kill the Black Widow just yet. She had felt conflicted, as she knew she shouldn't be, and a part of her was distinctly disappointed that Natasha hadn't taken Yelena's offer; given up the name and relieved Yelena of the duty of killing her. After all, Natasha had been a sort of far-off mentor, an ideal, for as long as Yelena could remember, and she had to admit that she would miss Natasha. At least a little.

But the rest of her was unsurprised, and even delighted in a very childish way, with Natasha's stubbornness. It was telling of the very Black Widow that Yelena had heard about for so long. This was who the Black Widow was. Stubborn and smart and determined. Natasha would be missed.

Then, Yelena shook her head and waved these thoughts away. She had been preparing to kill Natasha Romanoff her whole life. She had been preparing to replace her since the day she'd been born, and a silly sense of, what, nostalgia? _Gratitude_? Whatever it was, Yelena would have no part in it, and it would never, not in a million years, hold her back from what she knew she truly wanted.

And Yelena Belova wanted to be the Black Widow. Above everything else, she knew that.

"Well?" The man said, growing impatient.

"I," Yelena said and frowned. "I want to make her suffer first."

"This is impractical," he replied, a growl in his voice.

"Just a little longer, and then she'll be dead," Yelena said. "You _know_ this is what I want. I will kill her."

"Then stop wasting my time!" the man cried and Yelena realized with a bit of a start that tears were beginning to itch at her eyes. She swallowed and bit her tongue and blinked hard.

"I'm not," she finally said quietly. "I'm going to do it."

"Then do it," the man said and the next thing Yelena heard was the click of the phone being hung up on the other line. She ground her teeth and swallowed again, wishing she could will away the tears. She flung her cell phone onto the bed across from her and tried to breathe, running her hands through her hair and blinking up at the ceiling.

"Fine," she whispered bitterly to no one. "Fine. I'm getting it done."

_Hello! I'm home now for Christmas break and due to some complications, I won't be going back for the next semester just yet, which means I have a lot of time to pursue more writing!_

_Bad news, though. I've somehow gotten a terrible flu and I'm almost entirely bedridden, so that sucks. Don't worry about me, though, I'll be fine. :)_

_Happy Christmas Eve!_

_-BB_


	15. 15 Nebraska, traveling up I-80

15 [Nebraska, traveling up I-80]

Bucky was driving once the morning came. He felt terrible because while he was almost entirely healed, Natalia still winced when she moved and he was beginning to see dark circles under her eyes. It wasn't fair. Neither of them felt particularly good, but Bucky insisted that Natalia rest. He would drive for the next few hours of their desperate race to avoid Belova.

After Bucky's disruptive nightmares the previous night, they'd found a second hotel a few miles out from the one they'd been thrown out of and Natalia finally slept a good seven or eight hours. Bucky, however, was afraid of what he might see if he slept again and so while he spent the night in bed with her, her head on his chest and one of her legs locked around his, sound asleep, he never went back.

(he'd seen in his sleep metal plates warp and become unmade to the point where there was only a giant hole in the side of his chest and he looked inside and there was just metal more metal and sticky, thin blood coating everything and he began to scream, repulsed, scream and scream and scream)

He shook his head, swallowed, gripped the wheel. Tried to blink away the images glowing crimson and silver behind his eyes. Tried to settle his twisting stomach.

Now they were making their way up the highway and Natalia was staring at him as he drove and he was speeding. And he was thinking about running, which was what they were doing. He had thought he was done running. He'd done enough of it for a lifetime.

"You're white as a sheet," Natalia commented.

"Thought I was done, uhm, running," he said and cleared his throat and shifted in his seat and stared at the highway in front of him. The heating under their seats suddenly seemed too hot.

Natalia was silent for a long time. He glanced over at her and admired the way her beautiful red hair fell around her face. Red, like the flush in her cheeks like crimson like hot blood on metal like splitting his skin and feeling the way red felt like pain and inhumanness and, _oh._ Bucky shuddered and tried to clear away his thoughts, those thoughts that raced from him and straight into the depths of the things that all he wanted to do with was avoid.

He looked away from her hair.

"We shouldn't have left home," Natalia said. Then, she was frowning and shaking her head. "Count on me to finally find a home just to leave it." Bucky didn't know what to say.

"We'll go back," he said. "We will."

"Oh, no doubt about it, my darling," Natalia replied and she was looking at him and her smile was angry. "No Red Room brat is going to stop us."

"But until then, we're running," Bucky said quietly, darkly, and he reached up and ran his prosthetic hand through his hair nervously. "Like… uh, like before."

"You have me," Natalia said and she reached over and rested a hand gently on his knee. "You're not alone this time. And we'll be back in our apartment, right across from Steve, before you even know it."

He wanted to believe her, but the thing was, he _already_ knew it. He was already feeling the pain of it. Too late for that.

"Yeah," he replied.

A few hours later, Bucky was battling himself in the silence. He was starting to shudder, staring ahead at the road, thinking too hard again about his unsettling nightmares, about everything that sickened him, and suddenly, the air in the car didn't seem like enough.

Just barely staving off the panic, Bucky pulled over into some parking lot of a place he didn't bother to catch the name of and flung the door open, throwing himself out of the car and gasping. Natalia was napping in the passengers seat and he didn't want to wake her, but he knew he wasn't feeling entirely functional and he needed some fresh air. He needed a rest, for at least a minute, or he wasn't sure what would happen to him.

Bucky stood outside on the black pavement, the sun high over his head, leaning over the top of the car and took in a few breaths. One, two. In and out. He tried to clear his head of the images that horrified him, that brought his hands to shaking and his breath to leaving him.

"I'll be-," he said out loud, to himself or to his sleeping Talia, he wasn't sure. "Be right back."

Bucky shut the car door and put his hands on his head, and then wrapped them around his torso and began to walk. Just once or twice around the empty parking lot, that's all he needed. And then, then he would be fine.

Bucky made it halfway across the long parking lot before he felt the staring eyes and a shudder of fear coursed through him.

He whirled around just as the first man attacked him, so fast he barely had time to register it, barely had time to feel instinct become him and Bucky's eyes widened and he grabbed the oncoming man's face with his left, squeezing until he thought bone cracked, crushed, and then he threw the man aside. A gun went off and Bucky threw up his forearm and his jacket sleeve suffered the most damage as he deflected it. He cursed and glanced across the lot at the car, undisturbed so far, and he could see Natalia stirring, upset by the loud gun.

He didn't have time to see much more, however, because two attackers came at him on either side to grab his arms and two black vans were screeching up to meet him. He tore away from the attackers easily and kicked the man on his right hard right in the chest. The man cried out and hit the ground and slid and his gun dropped and Bucky scooped it up. He hated it. The man on his right approached him again just in time to see the barrel and Bucky watched the bullet sink into his forehead. Then, Bucky turned again and shot the man he'd kicked away.

_not the winter soldier not the winter soldier not not the not _

More bullets, through the windows of the black vans, and he saw blood splatter.

The driver of one of the vans dove out at Bucky and Bucky dropped the gun and reached out and grabbed the man by the neck. His attacker choked and the Winter Soldier scowled and squeezed tighter until the man was clawing at his hand. A swift knee into his gut stopped the Winter Soldier, however, and he let go just enough for the man to pull away as they both tried to catch their breath again. The man ran at him a few seconds before he could recover and he gasped desperately and just barely stepped out of the way, but once the man skidded past him, the Winter Soldier grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the side of the van with all his might, letting out a growing battle roar. The man crumpled and blood smeared down the window and gleamed grotesquely under the sunlight and the Winter Soldier turned in circles, his shoulders hunched and his eyes wide, looking to see if there was anyone else, but he was surrounded only by blood and bodies.

He stood there for a moment as everything slowed suddenly and the Winter Soldier struggled to breath.

It was as though he couldn't remember when he was for a second, as he looked at the bodies. Was it the war? Was he killing Nazis? Was he killing Americans? Was he Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier or some unnamed monster?

All he knew was that there was blood and he could see everything in his head again and suddenly, he was shuddering on his knees in a pools of blood, amidst the bodies.

His gloves and jacket were off and he was looking at his hands.

He was covering his face.

He was reminding himself, breathe breathe breathe

He knew there was no extraction and there was no Pierce and there was no chair in which his entire self was erased again and again and again, but for a second, it felt as though he was just waiting for that all again. It was too familiar a situation. They were waiting at every possible stop. Everywhere, the Winter Soldier was attacked and forced to be this.

Then, he recognized hands on him, on his shoulders and his cheeks and in his hair. Someone was kissing his skin, trying to hoist him to his feet, and he pulled away.

"No," he heard a man's voice cry in Russian. His own voice? "No."

"Yes, James, yes. Please stand up, my darling, please."

"James Buchanan Barnes," his voice said again mechanically.

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Please, please, please, stand up and let me help you."

He felt himself reach up to the switch on the back of his shoulder and tear off his prosthetic.

"James, for the love-"

"Buck?"

Bucky looked up suddenly, from where he was kneeling on the pavement in a parking lot, supporting himself with one hand. He felt jarred.

"Steve?" Bucky said.

"Yeah, Bucky, it's me. You okay?"

"No," Bucky said. He looked over. Natalia was kneeling next to him, staring at him with red, desperate eyes and holding up her cell phone. "I, I, uh, I…"

"You're gonna be okay," Steve said calmly and Bucky felt himself nod slowly, staring at the phone. "You should probably put your arm back on."

"I don't want to," Bucky said.

"Okay, okay," Steve backpedaled. "That's okay, you can do that later. Will you go with Nat back to the car? She said there's been some sort of accident."

"It wasn't an accident, I did it on purpose," Bucky replied and Steve was silent for a while.

"Natasha, I don't understand what's happened," he finally said.

"I'll tell you later, Steve," Natalia said.

"No," Steve insisted. "Tell me now."

"Great, thanks, you've been a lot of help," Natalia said quickly. "Bye."

"Wait, Nat-," Steve started to say.

"Steve," Bucky said weakly and then Natalia snapped the cell phone shut in her hand and slipped it into her back pocket. "Steve," Bucky repeated dejectedly.

"Come on," Natalia said in a low voice and she wrapped her arms around Bucky's and started to help him stand. His balance was off and she let him lean against her and he let her walk him back to the car and sit him down into the back seat. She was gone for a minute and when she came back, she had his prosthetic, wiping blood off his inanimate silver fingers. She climbed into the drivers seat and handed it to him in the back and he took it silently.

The rest of the car ride was quiet and Bucky laid down in the back and folded up his legs and stared at the ceiling and tried to push away the hate.

"I don't like running," he finally said quietly and Natalia didn't answer, but he heard her suck in a breath and swallow hard.

_Merry Christmas! -BB_


	16. 16 Nebraska

16 [Nebraska]

Later that day, James had moved back up to the front seat, but he was leaning his arms against the dashboard and putting his face in his hands and he didn't talk. Natasha put on music, something quiet and calm to fill the silence and she looked at him.

She was worried, of course she was. And she felt in her that desperate, dead-end franticness, the kind that squeezed her heart and brought her consistently to the verge of crying because she didn't know what she could do to help him.

She couldn't send him back. Belova would target him, like she'd promised, and Natasha wouldn't be there to take a bullet for him. She couldn't ask for help because all her friends were on a blacklist, with little red dots on their backs. She was at a loss, but James was hurting like he hadn't in months and she'd hoped he'd never have to again.

This is all my fault, she thought frequently, as hard as she tried to dispel the negative thoughts.

Natasha reached over and put her hand on James' hunched back and he flinched ever so slightly and she bit her lip.

"James," she said gently and he lifted his head. "We have to ditch this car. It's probably been tagged."

"We'll have to pay for it," he replied.

"SHIELD will help," she said. "Don't worry about it."

"What are we gonna do without a car?" James asked.

"We'll take a plane," Natasha replied, and then instructed, "There's a map in the glove compartment. Find somewhere you'd like to go to relax and we'll go there." He stared at her, those round, brown eyes. "We'll dig our heels in, wait for Belova to catch up to us and turn the tables. No more running."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" James asked.

I think it's what could make you happiest, Natasha thought.

"Yeah," she replied. "We aren't gonna play Belova's little cat and mouse game."

James opened the glove compartment and unfolded the ancient paper map and began to study it. She glanced at him, taking relief in the fact that he had something to keep him occupied now besides the torment that depressed him.

"Do you like beaches?" He asked her after a minute and she nodded. "That could be nice."

"Find a beach, then," she said and she glanced over at the map and started to try to smile carefully at him. She reached over and pointed at the paper. "Look, there, if you want something still cold, there's Maine. Or California, that'll be warm. And Florida, people like it there. It'll be hot in Florida."

"Hmm," James said thoughtfully.

"Have you ever had authentic Mexican food?" Natasha continued, trying to draw a smile out of him. She prodded a finger at the paper again at Texas. "We could sit by the Gulf of Mexico and eat the best tacos you've ever had." There it was, something of a smile on his face. At the very least, the pain relaxed out of his features. He glanced over at her and it seemed as though he couldn't help but smile gently back at her.

"I couldn't object to that," he admitted and Natasha grinned, a signature half-smile.

"Find a place somewhere remote," she said. "All to us. Just you and me and hot sand."

"And tacos," James added and she laughed.

"And bathing suits," she continued.

"I'll kiss you," he said.

"You could kiss me now," Natasha said flirtingly. "Please, don't wait until we're on a beach to kiss me." James laughed and Natasha relaxed.

"You'd have to pull over," he said.

"What, just to kiss me?" Natasha played innocently, pouting her lips at him and he grinned at her, biting his bottom lip and he was distracted from everything, staring at her mouth. To be honest, she was becoming pretty distracted as well. It was easy, all too easy, to lose herself in the sexy way he bit his lip and his round, puppy dog eyes under just-too-long strands of brown hair. She wanted to run her hands through it.

"To kiss you like I want to, yes," James said and Natasha pretended to scoff. She wished she didn't have to take her eyes off him to look at the road.

"Why, Mr. Barnes!" She cried and put a hand against her chest in mock surprise and he laughed again. "What _are _you suggesting?"

They did pull over, and he reached out and caressed her cheek with his cool, metal fingers as he leaned in and pressed his lips slowly to hers. She scooted closer to him and splayed her fingers across his face, rough with just the beginning of stubble. Unfortunately, however, in the passenger's seat of a car, it was impossible to wrap around each other and kisses were limited to faces, and hands were limited to chests and waists, but it didn't stop them.

"So Texas it is," Natasha said as she kissed his face. "That's where we'll deal with Belova, get it over with, and then just relax."

"Yeah," James breathed. He had found himself too busy reaching down to kiss her face and her neck to really say much else.

"I've never had sex on a beach before," Natasha said and she took his hands and put them on her waist.

"Me either," James said, pulling her closer, sliding his hands up her back.

"First time for everything," Natasha said and James had to stop kissing her for a second to laugh.

They continued like this for another good few minutes before Natasha finally grabbed James' face and stopped him, smiling.

"No, no, we have to get back on the road, we can't keep making out like teenagers," she said.

"Seemed like a good idea to me," James mumbled and Natasha grinned and leaned back into her seat and took off from the shoulder back into the road. James was still holding one of her hands and she let him keep it, feeling the way he ran small circles over her skin and kissed her palm.

"Thanks," he whispered after a while, once he'd given her her hand back. She glanced at him and he was turned to her, looking at her. "I know what you're doing, distracting me. Just… Thanks."

"Oh, don't thank me," Natasha teased. "I'm really being selfish. Honestly, I'll jump on any excuse to kiss you silly, Barnes." She could feel him smiling at her.


	17. 17 Nebraska

17 [Nebraska]

It was still a few hours drive to the nearest Nebraska airport and they spent it with lazy flirting and gentle kisses from the passenger seat, on her hands and her cheeks. She caught his face before he pulled away a few times, trying to multitask and balance loving James with driving, and with his chin in one hand, she'd turn to him for just a second to press a kiss right back onto his mouth, a serious kiss that left him looking dizzy for a second.

About a half hour from the airport, however, James changed the topic of conversation from casual teasing into something that felt more serious.

"Have you ever thought about it?" he asked. "About what Yelena said?" Natasha looked over, confused and somewhat alarmed.

"Giving up my identity?" She said. "No, actually, no."

"Not that," James said and he shifted and looked at her and she looked back. "I mean about, um... Marriage. The picket fence and babies. Dancing off into the sunset."

Natasha stared as long as she could at James' face before she had to look back at the road and she swallowed. He looked almost pleading and suddenly, everything was uncomfortable and she stiffened in her seat.

"No," she admitted. "I haven't considered that, either." She hesitated. "Why?"

James took a long time in responding and then he was looking out his window. It seemed to Natasha that he wasn't sure how to speak, where to begin, how to phrase his thoughts.

"I never wanted a war," he finally said wearily and although it wasn't much, it spoke volumes to Natasha. Was it what he wanted? A family, children, a picture-perfect American Dream? Natasha didn't know what to say. "Can't you picture it," James continued quietly. "A nice house, somewhere where no one will ever find us. Flowers on the front porch, a damn minivan." He laughed and Natasha listened to him and felt her heart break. He shrugged. "It's stupid."

"We can get flowers," she said to him and he looked over at her and offered a smile and looked back down. "I'm sorry things didn't work out how you wanted them to, James," she said quietly and James looked back over at her and his eyes were sad, but he smiled gently like he did when he didn't want her to pity him and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"I'm happy with you," he said and she leaned into his kiss and tried to smile back.

"Are you?" She said. "You want a family."

"I want you," James said firmly. "More than anything." Natasha bit her lip and stared at the horizon going dark.

"More than the minivan?" She said and her voice was teasing but she felt it in all seriousness in her heart. He laughed again.

"It's not that," he said. "Really, it's…" He stopped and she saw him press his mouth together and think. "I'm tired. I want something normal." He shifted and turned to her now. "Things used to be normal, a long, long time ago but now I'm 70 years in the future and I have a bionic arm and I practically heal with magic."

"You want normal," Natasha said.

"I want happy," James said and he relaxed back down into his seat and looked at her. "I want to see us happy."

In an attempt to diffuse the conversation, Natasha grinned lightheartedly and teased him.

"So picky, Barnes," she said. "If running from Russian assailants can't keep you happy, nothing will!" James laughed and this time it wasn't one of his quiet laughs or one of his resigned laughs, and she let out a breath in relief as the tension melted away.

"Yeah," he laughed. "Silly me."

And Natasha felt her heart grow heavy with pain.


	18. 18 Nebraska airport

18 [Nebraska airport]

They reached the airport not long after James had confided in Natasha his wistfulness for something happy and James pulled his gloves on over his beautiful silver fingers and they left the car in a ditch on the highway.

"What about our luggage?" James asked as they both stared at the back of the car, the hood up and their suitcases sitting in front of them. Natasha sighed. To be honest, she was used to leaving things behind, but she hated to have to see James follow her in this life she thought she'd at least mostly left behind. It wasn't fair. She looked at his tired, sweet face and frowned.

"How much of it do you need?" She asked and watched him unzip his suitcase and stare. He kept his book of paper, the one he wrote in, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and then she watched him debate with himself before shoving the suitcase back into the car and turning away.

"We'll buy more," he said. "Didn't like those shirts anyway."

Security was, predictably, a nightmare. Natasha went in front of James and got through without difficulty, but she could see him visibly cringe when the metal detectors screamed as he walked by. He had to take off his gloves and roll up his sleeve and let himself be examined as he and Natasha explained that _yes_, it was a prosthetic and _yes, _it was attached to him and _yes, _it was unusual-it was vibranium.

"You that guy on TV last summer?" One of the security men asked. Three of them were standing around him in a circle and leaning over his outstretched forearm, looking as though they were afraid to touch him, and James looked uncomfortable.

"I, uh, yeah, there was, uh," he said. "Brainwashed, I was, uh-" Natasha jumped in to save him.

"This is the Winter Soldier," she explained, putting a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "And I'm the Black Widow." With the other hand, she pulled out her wallet and flashed her Avengers ID. "We're going to have to get through here."

"He's with you?" Another one of the security guards asked and Natasha nodded.

"That's what I said," she replied hotly. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the Nick Fury way-"

"Oh, no, ma'am, Black Widow, go right ahead," the guard cried anxiously and Natasha took James' hand and pulled him along hurriedly.

"Metal detectors," James grumped huffily, pulling his sleeve back down with his right hand as Natasha pulled him along. "My one true weakness." In front of him, Natasha smirked.

"That's the worst of it," she replied. "We're just that much closer to an honest vacation." James just reached behind him and pulled his hood up over his head to hide his face from the still-staring people in security, ashamed.

As they sat at the gate later, James' phone rang and Natasha saw his face light up as he looked at the screen. "Steve," he said and answered the phone immediately. Natasha felt a twinge of fear. She looked down at her lap and listened to one side of a conversation that sounded mostly like, "Hey… Yeah, you? … No, not really… Yeah… Yeah… ... Yeah…" And it continued like that until suddenly, James leaned back and pushed his hood back, running his hand through his hair, and sighed. "We don't want you to get hurt, Steve," James said. "You know Nat; she thinks if she can keep you out of it, she can keep you safe. Ignorance is bliss with her." Suddenly, it was serious, and Natasha looked up and over at James. He was looking at her. He studied her eyes and reached over and wrapped his fingers around her palm. "She's always been an adamant secret-keeper." Natasha stared back at James and wondered what that meant. In his eyes and his voice, she saw tiredness, and he sighed as though it didn't please him. They hadn't talked about secrets in a while, but he still sounded frustrated. His fingers squeezed her hand gently, like support or some sort of apology. She swallowed. It was an 'I love you, _but_' and she felt all at once emotions grow in her, a regret rising in her throat.

They didn't understand. Honesty couldn't always be the right answer-it just couldn't. Not in Natasha Romanoff's world. Maybe for someone else; maybe for two men who grew up in Brooklyn with honest beginnings and an honest story and an honest legacy. They hadn't had to do what she had to survive. They hadn't lived like her.

You don't understand, Natasha thought. I keep secrets because that is my life and I keep secrets because I love you. I want to keep you. And in my world, the truth is ugly and nothing is black and white.

"Steve, we'll tell you as soon as we can. It'll all be over in a couple of days. It's just a, uh, setback. … Texas… I know, we got off track, but it'll be fine, I swear… Fine…" James took the phone away from his face and he and Natasha were still looking at each other. He put the phone in front of her and she took it slowly. "He wants to talk to you," he said.


	19. 19 Nebraska airport

19 [Nebraska airport]

Natasha took the phone hesitantly from James and brought it to her ear.

"Steve," she said.

"Natasha, where are you and what the _hell _is going on," Steve said by way of greeting.

"Its fine, Steve," Natasha said, trying to speak quietly.

"No, it's not," Steve insisted angrily. "Tell me what's happening." Natasha pressed her mouth together. He could be so stubborn.

"It doesn't involve you," Natasha said and her voice was beginning to gain an edge. "And regardless, I have it under control."

"It doesn't involve Bucky either, does it. And yet there he is!" Steve cried.

"I'm here, he'll be fine, Steve," Natasha said.

"Natasha-" Steve said with a warning tone. Natasha glanced over at James.

"Maybe you aren't the only one who loves this man, Steve," Natasha said coldly as she looked at him, and then because she wanted to yell at Steve in private, she stood and James watched her step a couple paces away. She kept her voice low and she turned away from him so he couldn't hear her. "I can protect him just as well, if not better, than you could. And let's not forget that he's the damn Winter Soldier. Whether he likes it or not, he can take care of himself pretty freaking well." Steve hesitated before responding again and Natasha swallowed and steeled herself. She knew she'd been sharp, but she knew this phone call wasn't going to be a pleasant one anyway. And besides, she needed to get Steve off her back. Natasha couldn't handle this right now.

And besides, she and James could take care of themselves.

When Steve finally responded, his voice escalated into shouting.

"He is scared as _hell_, Natasha," he cried. "He's scared!" Natasha took in a breath quietly.

"I…," she said quietly, but couldn't think of anything to say in response. Steve wasn't wrong, and he continued.

"Natasha, whatever this is, it is _not_ something Bucky can handle. He didn't get away from Hydra even a _year_ ago, Nat, it's been months and he's not ready for this!" Steve yelled. The louder Steve got, the quieter Natasha became until she felt as though she were whispering.

"Steve-" she started.

"It's not good for him!" Steve cried. Natasha ground her teeth together.

"You think I don't _know_ it's not good for him?" Natasha asked angrily. "I know! Believe me! And I'm worried, and I wish it wasn't like this, but he'd be dead if I tried to save him. If I tried to get him out of this, she'd kill him-"

"She?" Steve stopped her and Natasha cursed in frustration. "Who's she?"

"Steve, I-"

"NATASHA! You both are in danger and you won't tell me anything!" He cried. Natasha wished he was here, in person, so she could get up in his face and yell right back. If only she wasn't in a public place. Anger boiled in her, and frustration, and underneath it all, fear.

"It's for your own good!" Natasha retaliated. "It's not like you could help, anyway!"

"You're hurting him!" Steve said.

"I'm protecting him the best I can," Natasha said.

"He can't handle something like this right now, Nat," Steve replied and Natasha saw in her mind James kneeling in that parking lot, pools of blood on the pavement, covering his face and panicking inside his head. She felt awash in fear and her stomach felt sick and she suddenly, her eyes stung with tears.

"I know-" she started to say and Steve cut her off again and Natasha let out a frustrated growl.

"He was making progress!" Steve was saying. "He needs to be somewhere safe! You both do!"

"But that. Can't. Happen. Right now, Steve, it can't," Natasha said through gritted teeth.

"Where are you," Steve said. "I'm coming there, I'm going to meet you."

"Don't you dare," Natasha threatened.

"Where are you?" Steve asked.

"I'm not telling you!" She cried.

"Geez!" Steve cried. "What is _wrong_ with you Natasha?"

"It's for your own good; I'm saving your life," she replied.

"This makes no sense. Natasha, you promised me a few days and you'd be back and you'd both be fine," he said.

"It didn't go according to plan," Natasha said.

"No, really?" Steve said sardonically.

"Steve-" Natasha said.

"Stop," Steve said. "Just stop. I can't believe this."

"Stop cutting me off, Rogers!" Natasha cried. "Let me talk!" Then, she hesitated and put her free hand on her forehead and stared out the window in front of her at the airplanes outside. "It's my fault, Steve," she said quietly.

"You're damn right it is," he replied coldly. She glanced back behind her at James.

"I'm keeping him safe," she said.

"He's relapsing, Natasha," Steve replied. "Even if you can keep whoever's attacking you away from him, who says he's safe from himself?" Natasha felt something inside her rise to choke her and she was shocked to find that her breath shook when she took it in. Her face was hot and tears ran without her permission. She had to take a second before she could speak again.

"I know, Steve," she said and sucked in air, trying to settle herself down. "And I'm afraid."

"Then let me help," Steve said.

"I can't," she said. "I can't." Because then you'd be in trouble, too.

"Yeah," Steve sighed and she could hear the cold anger in his voice, the disappointment. She swallowed. "Yeah, you never can, huh?" He continued. "You keep every secret there is to keep. I bet you don't even know how to trust someone."

"Steve, I do, I…," Natasha tried weakly to defend herself. She couldn't wipe the tears off her face. She felt as though she were just smearing her cheeks with them.

"I'm going to find you, Natasha," Steve said. "And I'm going to bring you and Bucky home."

"Please, be careful, please, please," Natasha said because she knew she couldn't change his mind and the beeping tone from the other end continued in Natasha's ear long after Steve had hung up. She took in a deep breath and she didn't want to return to James with wet eyes, but when she turned around, he was there and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I don't want to lie and I don't want to run," he said to her, his voice quiet. "We have to fix all of this."

"I know," Natasha said squeezed him. "We will, James."


	20. 20 Nebraska airport

20 [Nebraska airport]

Bucky had only seen Natalia cry a few times, and they were times of serious distress. She was crying now and it scared him, seeing her eyes red and puffy and her cheeks shine. It wasn't something he was used to. Natalia put on a very strong front, so much so that tears rarely made it through.

"He's going to try to get involved," Natalia said of Steve. Her voice was wobbling. Her face was buried in Bucky's jacket and she was squeezing him to her tightly. Bucky squeezed back. "He's going to try to find us."

"What?" Bucky exclaimed, suddenly stunned. He felt his stomach sink. "And he has no idea what he's up against."

"There's too much James, too much, and I don't know how to do it all," she said.

"Talia, we have to tell him," Bucky replied with sudden urgency. "We have to let him know."

"James," Natalia said. "Is that what we should do? I don't know anymore." This scared Bucky, too. Natalia was a decision maker. She was confident and self-assured. She was never at a loss.

"He's already in danger, and we can't get him to stop. It's all we _can_ do," Bucky said. Maybe he would have to be assertive. He said, "Hand me the phone, Natalia."

"James…," she mumbled nervously and hugged him tighter.

"I'll tell him. Okay, _I'll _do it, I promise," Bucky said. She was quiet for a minute. "Come on, Nat, why is this such a big deal? It's best that he knows, really! It'll be better for him and for us. Why are you so upset about this?"

Again, Natalia was quiet for a while. Then, she spoke.

"When people," she said, and she turned her face and took one of her hands from behind him to wipe her eyes. "When they get involved in _my _issues, they end up dead. And Yelena Belova is definitely _my_ issue. This isn't a fight Steve knows. I want him to stay home and be happily oblivious." Bucky felt her shoulders deflate. "That's all. I don't want my world to hurt anyone else."

"What do you mean, your world?" Bucky said. "We're your friends. Your problems are our problems."

"No," Natalia said and she pulled away from Bucky then and looked at him desperately, then reached over and grabbed his hands. "No, that's not true. It's not black and white like that, it's not easy. You and Steve always think it is, because you two are the same; you're all about the lines between right and wrong. Loyalty and honor and friendship. Good guys and bad guys. Well, that's not what I've lived, James. In my world, the good guys don't always win, if there even are good guys in the equation at the time. Sometimes, it's hard to tell. But I'm not like you and you don't understand me."

Here, Bucky bit his tongue. Her words felt, well… Sharp. He stiffened, and Natalia must have noticed him do so, but right then, he didn't care. He felt somehow slighted, that the Winter Soldier's struggles with shades of grey in 'her world' had been so dismissed and he wanted to point it out to her before he told himself to stop, forced himself to be patient instead of defensive. He knew she hadn't meant anything insulting and maybe she hadn't been thinking. Either way, it was beside the point. He had other things to worry about then.

"Natalia," Bucky said finally and he looked at her face and squeezed her hands gently. "Trust me."

He could see her begin to wear down, the way her face fell slowly and her eyes searched the floor back and forth. Then, she looked back up at him.

"Fine, tell him," she said and took the phone from her pocket and thrust it at Bucky's chest. Bucky reached up and took it slowly.

"Thank you," he replied to her quietly and then he dialed the number and put the phone to his face. Natalia backed off, her face smoldering with conflict and her arms folded tightly across her chest. When Steve picked up, Bucky turned away.

"Natasha, I swear, I-," Steve answered the phone raging and Bucky almost jumped.

"Hey!" He cried. "Hey, hey, Steve, no, it's me! Okay, it's me, it's Bucky. I'm gonna talk to you about this, okay?" He said.

"Why would you lie to me for her?" Steve cried and Bucky frowned.

"You've kept her secrets for her too, Steve," Bucky replied.

"What, when?" Steve demanded. Bucky ground his teeth impatiently. They were all reaching the end of their ropes.

"You knew she knew me," Bucky reminded him. "You knew that I trained her in Russia, before I even knew myself. And you kept that secret from me, Steve." Steve was silent. Bucky let out a breath. "You're in danger," he continued. "I'm going to explain everything to you now because I just can't stand it anymore and I've never seen Natalia so stressed and I'm certain it's better for you to be prepared instead of left in the dark."

"Okay," Steve said quietly.

"Just double check yourself, okay; have you been tapped? Can anyone else see you or hear you?" Bucky asked.

"No," Steve said. "This is one of Fury's lines."

"Okay," Bucky said. "Listen closely. We're being tailed by this Russian assassin. Her name is Yelena Belova and she's after Nat. She wants to call herself the Black Widow and she wants to kill Natalia to do it, so we're running." Bucky paused a minute, almost sure Steve would want to make some sort of comment, but he was quiet. "But it's a delicate situation, Steve. You can't come after us. She's good and she's thorough. She has eyes on you, you understand? So you can't just jump out of line or you might get a bullet in your back."

"I see," Steve said slowly.

"Really?" Bucky said. "It's not a fight I think you're used to."

"Don't underestimate me," Steve shot back defensively and Bucky swallowed.

"I never would, Steve," Bucky said weakly. "I never have." Steve took a second before he responded and Bucky heard him breathe out.

"Yeah," he finally said. "No, I know that. I'm sorry, Buck, I just… I guess I'm kinda high-strung right now."

"We all are," Bucky said. "It's okay."

"What do I do?" Steve said. "I can't just do nothing."

"For now, can I ask you to?" Bucky pleaded. "Please?"

"I really don't know about that, Bucky," Steve said.

"I know this isn't usual for you," Bucky said. "Hanging back and not jumping into battle. I know you. But this is different and I'd like to make sure it's not something we can't handle first, okay?"

"You don't want too many balls in the air," Steve replied and Bucky nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, just, give Nat and I a chance first, okay? This might be smaller than it looks like at first. After all, Belova's young. She's probably only 20 or 21 and she may be clever, but we're trained. We can take her on." Bucky said this, although he wasn't really certain it was true. He wanted to make Steve feel better and maybe, he thought, he wanted to make himself feel better. He didn't know how much he believed himself. Yelena Belova scared him.

"Alright Buck, but don't let your guard down," Steve said. "Don't get cocky."

"Got it, Captain," Bucky said.

"And tell me when things happen," Steve continued. "If they attack you, tell me about it afterwards."

"I will," Bucky said.

"How are you doing? After that attack in the parking lot…," Steve said and Bucky swallowed and placed his free hand on the back of his neck. The metal was cool and smooth and he tried to massage the knots out of the muscles at the base of his skull there anxiously.

"I'm better," he said. There's always something of a pit that lingers after an episode like that, however. A pit, a rock in his stomach. It takes a while for the aftermath to settle and the bad taste to fade out of his mouth. "I'm gonna be fine." Then, it occurred to Bucky to add, "But how are you?"

"Me?" Steve said and Bucky almost rolled his eyes.

"No, the other Steve Rogers," he said. "Yes, you. Feeling okay?"

Steve was quiet for a frighteningly long time and Bucky felt his mouth dry up.

"Hey, Stevie, you there," he said and he heard Steve shuffling behind the other line.

"Yeah," he said. "No, I, uh, I'm okay. I've got Sharon and Sam. I'm not alone, Bucky."

"I know," Bucky said. "I'm making sure."

"I'm gonna be fine," Steve said. "Same as you. But ever since I felt something was wrong, there've been a lot of late nights, worrying." Bucky sucked in a breath.

"Oh, Steve, I'm sorry," he said. "Please, don't worry about us."

"Yeah, like I can help that," Steve replied. "Look, Sam's stayed over a few nights, and Sharon's eating dinner with me tonight, so I'm okay."

"That sounds bad," Bucky said.

"It's not," Steve said firmly. "I'm just missing you two. So sort this and come back soon, okay?"

"We will," Bucky said quietly.

"Talk to me later," Steve replied.

"I will," Bucky said again and then, after a long pause, Steve hung up and Bucky pressed his mouth together tightly and swallowed and pulled his cell phone away from his face.

Natalia was standing a few paces away, staring at him with her arms folded, looking anxious when Bucky returned.

"Well?" She asked.

"He knows," Bucky said. "And he's gonna stay home with Sam and Sharon." He watched Natalia's shoulders fall as she let out a breath of relief. "I'm worried about him, though," Bucky said. "We have to get back soon."

"We will," Natalia said automatically and Bucky frowned.

"We don't know that," he reminded her and she searched his face silently.

"Yeah…," she said. "I guess you're right."

_Chapter 20 for the day I missed on the 29th, 21 for today, and 22 to apologise for my discrepancy. :) Sorry I missed yesterday! I'm having computer troubles and, believe it or not, but I completely lost track of the days I'd posted! -BB_


	21. 21 on the plane

21 [on the plane]

The plane trip from Nebraska to Houston, Texas was two and a half hours and Natasha couldn't relax. She suspected James couldn't either, and he held her hand through the entire flight, leaning his head back on the seat and closing his eyes, but his eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was in that stubborn line he made when he was thinking. She stared at his face and swallowed, then looked forward again and squeezed his hand.

There was so much to worry about. She felt everything spiraling out of control and she felt overwhelmed, like at every second, the panic threatened to overcome her heart. She was almost worried she'd cry again.

Once they landed, Natasha discovered that she had five missed calls from Clint Barton.

"What now?" James asked.

"Call us a cab," she told him. "Either Clint's coffee machine is broken again or there's a real problem."

So, as seemingly the only couple there without luggage or even a plan, Natasha and James stood outside of the airport on their phones.

"We need a cab at the Houston airport as soon as possible," Natasha heard James said. "No, yeah, I know we should have made a reservation, but we were, um, preoccupied." Then, she turned around and redialed Clint.

"Natasha!" Clint cried and Natasha bit her lip.

"Yes?" She said. "You called me."

"Are you alright?" He said.

"I'm fine, Clint," she replied.

"Steve said…," Clint trailed off and Natasha stopped.

"Steve said _what_," she said back venomously.

"Woah!" Clint cried. "Look, maybe this is a thing I shouldn't know or something? I dunno, Steve just said you and your boyfriend were getting into trouble and I thought I ought to see if I could help you out any."

"Next time Steve talks to you, tell him to stick it in his ear," Natasha shot back angrily.

"Um, I can't; he's Captain America," Clint said.

"Clint, we're fine," Natasha said. "I promise. And Steve shouldn't have said anything to you."

"Well, sorry for worrying," Clint replied and Natasha sighed.

"Don't worry," she instructed him. "Now I have to go, James and I are in the middle of something." Before Clint could say anything else, Natasha hung up and crammed her phone into her pocket and whirled around to see James still on the phone.

"No, no, I said the _airport_," he was saying frustratedly. "A cab! We need a cab! Yes, I mean a taxi!"

"Are they coming?" She asked and he looked at her and didn't answer and after a few more minutes of arguing, he finally shut the phone and groaned. "Well?" She asked again.

"They're coming, but they don't like it one bit," he said.

They waited there on the sidewalk for the car for an irritatingly long thirty minutes and while they were there, Natasha kept finding herself staring over at James and thinking. He was standing beside her, pulling his gloves back on and folding his arms over his chest and standing there, staring out at the street and the tall buildings of the city in the distance. Finally, he glanced over at her and made a face.

"What?" He said and she looked down.

"Nothing," she replied and she stepped closer to him and strung her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. "Just… Nothing."

It hadn't been true, because she had been thinking about him and the things she'd heard him say to Steve on the phone about her. About her secrets, and the way she was private. He had said it regretfully and looked at her, almost as though he wished she were different, and she remembered still the pain of hearing him sound that way.

You just don't understand, she'd thought.

They found a hotel in Houston in the middle of the city, which was huge and commercial and bustling. It was nothing like DC and it seemed as though James hadn't seen anything like it in a long time. He stared out the windows of the taxi as they drove, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open and Natasha almost laughed.

"They didn't build places like this the last time I was in a city," he admitted.

"When was the last time you were in a city?" The cab driver exclaimed. "They all look like this."

"Wow…," he breathed and Natasha just held his hand and smiled. "What do you think Brooklyn looks like now?"

"Not the same as it did eighty years ago," Natasha said. The cab pulled up to a stop at a curb and they paid the driver and stepped out at the front of their hotel.

Once they rented a room and got inside, Natasha began to pace.

"What are you doing?" James asked.

"I have counterplans to sent into motion," Natasha replied and looked back at him. "We're still having a showdown here, remember? I'm sure Belova thinks she has the upper hand. I just have to out-think her."

"How?" James said and Natasha shook her head.

"Good question," she said. "We don't have the connections she clearly has," Natasha continued. "Or the gear, or the intel."

"We have SHIELD," James pointed out. "We could request back up."

"I suppose. I hate filing the paperwork," Natasha groaned and James frowned.

"You're really making this difficult, you know," he said.

"Fine, we'll get some SHIELD help," she replied and pressed her mouth together. "We can't be caught off guard here. We have to know where she is and what she's planning."

Natasha talked like that all night, pacing back and forth and brainstorming while James lay on the hotel bed and covered his face with his arms tiredly.

"This is where we're making our stand, James," Natasha finally said that night and James looked up at her. "We have to be ready."

"I know," he said. "I know, Natalia, and we will be. I'm just… Tired." Natasha looked back at him and then crawled onto the top of the bed and laid down next to him.

"We'll make this okay," she said.

"I'm sure we've thrown Belova off at least a little," James said hopefully. "Maybe we can rest a little." Natasha was almost sure that wasn't a good idea, but she snuggled up next to him anyway and took his head in her hands and kissed it.

"For right now, yes," she gave in. "But just for now, and then I have a lot of work to do to make up for this extra step she always seems to have in front of us." James reached up and took her hand and pressed it to his cheek and then nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said and looked up at her. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said. "I love you." He smiled a little at her.

"I love you, too," he said. "I love you a lot."


	22. 22 Odessa, Ukraine

22 [Odessa, Ukraine]

He was fast, whoever he was, so fast that she could almost mistake him for someone she used to know and ghosts became her, flashes of frantic kisses with flirting hands, sparring so passionate it was borderline intimate and hauntingly empty brown eyes. Natasha swallowed back her own heartbreak, where she had never felt closure, and fought back against the dangerously fast masked man.

And yet she still saw the ghosts. Every move he made into her was familiar and suddenly, they were dancing in a fierce, graceful back and forth that she'd never had with anyone but him. Hit, dodge, hit, dodge. It is your job to go unseen. Don't let me catch you. Don't let me grab you.

James Barnes.

Natasha flinched at the thought of his name, and with her hesitation, he grabbed her, snatched up her wrists like he had once before, dragged her to him like he had once before, but without the love, without the playfulness. He was fire now, fire and sharp teeth. Natasha gasped with the attack of pain inside her heart and the pain in her right wrist as his left hand squeezed and she knew without a doubt that it was him.

James had wrath in his eyes, stood up like a cardboard cut out in front of the emptiness, and Natasha felt like she was staring into the abyss as she was yanked up into his face, their noses inches apart.

"Oh," she gasped. "Oh, James." She watched the flimsy cover inside him waver at the sound of his own name. "James." She said it again, deliciously English, regrettably unused. "My darling, please."

Natasha felt James' grip on her wrists slacken and she used that split second to tear away from him and point her hand to his chest and activate her Widow's Bite. It was out of desperation, for self preservation, and she hated herself for it but she would do it given that she had to. James was strong. He could handle it. Blue light jumped and Natasha grit her teeth and looked away from him, dancing backwards and his scream was unbelievably familiar to her, even muffled as he was behind his mask as her own weapon electrocuted him. When Natasha looked back, he had one hand hovering over his shoulder, where he had been shot, and other gripping his head and his eyes were wide in fear.

"I'm sorry!" Natasha called to him. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I had to." James' eyes were different now. The emptiness was there, and the wrath, but she had done what she'd always been able to do. She'd drawn something out of him, dragged it up from the abyss, but this time, it was the true wrath and she watched as his shoulders hunch and he clenched his fists and he looked to her engineer, in the rover behind her, and Natasha glanced back behind her and gasped.

It should have been a race for the rover, but James didn't run. He pulled a gun out from a holster at his back and cocked it and Natasha tried to run faster. She flung herself at the car and the man inside was weeping in fear and Natasha started it and they were off, the gas pedal pressed flat against the floor and Natasha trying to swallow and trying to stop her shaking.

"Who is he?!" The engineer cried.

"He's dangerous!" Natasha called back and then she heard an explosion and in her rearview mirror, she saw a burst of fire and the back end of the rover began to lift. He'd shot out the tires, they were flipping! Natasha grabbed the engineer and pulled him to her as she kicked the door open and threw herself out with him. They hit the sand in a cloud of dirt, Natasha's arms around the man in her charge and she took the fall for them both, gasping to breathe in the cloud of dust as her panic mounted.

She didn't hear him approach. He truly was like a ghost; he appeared before her through the cloud in an instant, following her, a second gun cocked, and the man behind Natasha screamed. Natasha looked up at him, gasping, and he reached down with his horrifyingly powerful left and grabbed her by the collar and yanked her towards him again. Natasha found herself staring into his eyes for the second time, imagining she could read the emotions there that had been dredged up as she evaded him. He was glaring.

"James," Natasha said and she reached up to touch him, but before she could, his eyes hardened further and he prodded the barrel of his gun into her side, aimed towards her engineer's head beneath her and Natasha gasped. "I-," she said. "I-I'm not afraid of you!" She said and James didn't respond. She heard the click as he pulled the trigger and suddenly everything was hot and the bullet tore through her body. It _burned_ and Natasha let out an anguished scream. James dropped her and began to back away into the rising dust and Natasha grabbed at her wound, torn all the way through her, and there was so much blood. She turned to see another pool of dark, dark red and a hole in the center of the engineer's head. His eyes were open. Natasha looked back up to where James had been and suddenly, she was angry too and he wasn't going to get away. Gasping in pain, steeling her resolve and gritting her teeth, Natasha pulled herself to her feet and began to stumble after James until she was out of the wall of risen sand and dirt and could see again into the dunes.

He was there, just yards away from her, grabbing the hanging ladder from a black helicopter suspended in the air and he was looking after her as she stumbled towards him, as if he was waiting.

Natasha screamed at him, going from English to Russian, rapidfire, screaming at him the things he should know.

_JamesJamesJamesJamesJames _

She was staggering, both hands over the hole in her gut, wondering if she would die and wondering if it was all worth it anyway.

_JamesJamesJAMESJAMESJAMES _

And he stood there silently, waited for her, listened to her, until she was so close to him that she reached up with one, blood-dripping hand, to rip the mask off his face, but before she could, he backed away from her and looked up and the helicopter began to lift off.

"No!" Natasha screamed at him. "James Barnes! Jaaames!"

Natasha was beginning to see spots, and the Winter Soldier looked down after her and watched her collapse and Natasha awoke with a horrible start into the darkness of her hotel room.

Of course, she didn't mean to jump away from James when she noticed his arms wrapped around her, when she saw his face, sweet and relaxed in sleep, inches from hers, but she did anyway reflexively and James stirred. He looked over at her with eyes unfocused and squinted. She was on the other side of the bed, her body was tense, and she was starting to relax again, but the nightmare of Odessa had been so horrifically vivid that the white scar on her hip seemed to burn with the memory.

"'Talia," James murmured tiredly and she could see him through the dark, sweet and tender, always gentle, lovingly protective, with wounded eyes and a hundred things on his conscious that weren't his fault and through the memory of wrathful and empty eyes, he seemed a stark comparison. She began to bring herself to him again, regretting the subconscious panic from nightmares of brutality.

"Yes," she said as she settled back into him. It was her favorite way to sleep, with James so close that she could feel his breath on her skin, the way he wrapped himself around her and they hardly needed blankets because they kept each other warm. He didn't scare her. She loved him.

"You okay?" James asked and Natasha nodded.

"Yes," she replied again quietly.

The Winter Soldier didn't make her breakfast in the morning. The Winter Soldier didn't offer to drive even before she was tired and he didn't kiss her cheeks or hold her hands or look at her like she was perfect. That was James and she wasn't afraid of James Buchanan Barnes, but the Winter Soldier, well…

When she looked him in the eyes and told him she wasn't afraid, it wasn't the Winter Soldier she was talking to.


	23. 23 the hotel bed in Houston

23 [the hotel bed in Houston]

James was starting to sit up and Natasha scooted herself close to him and put her arms around his neck and dragged him close to her, pressing their foreheads together and trying to take deep breaths. She felt her heart racing and her mouth dry. She squeezed her eyes shut.

James wrapped his arms around her. She felt him against her waist and her back, half flesh, half vibranium, then his right hand cup her cheek.

"N'talia," he said sleepily. "What is it?"

"I haven't had nightmares in a really long time…," she said breathlessly and James seemed to stop for a minute and consider this as she slumped down exhaustedly and nuzzled her face into his neck, searching for comfort. There were scars there next to his neck, and puckered skin, and hot metal, and she rested her face there and realized that she was going to cry again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked and Natasha just squeezed him tighter and let out a strangled sob that embarrassed her. She felt him gasp. "Hey, come on now," he was saying, stroking her hair, holding her tight. "It's not real, remember? Think of the stuff you tell me when this happens. It was just a dream."

"I know it wasn't real," she replied. "And it's over. It's just-"

"Hard," James said. She could feel his voice in his chest, rumbling deep inside him. Before she even heard him, she could feel him. It was comforting. "I get that. But that's okay, that just means I help you out for once. Sometimes, you just have to take a second, Nat, and I'm here for you."

She felt all at once ashamed then that the subject of fear in her dreams had been this man who now sat up with her and let her cry into his skin, and the one whose eyes struck terror into her once now brought comfort and love. In any other instance, she knew, if it had not been about him, she would want to explain the dream to James. But now it would be another secret between them, and she would keep it locked in her heart for his sake, so he would never have to know.

"Why do you think this happened?" James asked her. She shifted and pulled her arms back from behind him so she could just rest against his chest, and he leaned back slowly and let her. She didn't know how to answer his question.

"You think I'm stressed," she finally replied.

"I do," he said back.

"You think I can't do it?" She asked and felt him swallow anxiously.

"I think working too hard can be bad for you," he admitted. "I never said you couldn't do it. And you have me to help you do it. You probably just… Need to take more breaks. Try to worry about it less." Natasha shook her head slowly.

"I don't know how to do that," she said. James sighed.

"I wish I could tell you how," he replied.

They laid there for another minute and then James looked over at the clock and shifted them both back down lower onto the mattress.

"It's only four," he said. "Are you going to try to go back to sleep?" Natasha clung to him and stared at the darkness across from her and found herself shaking her head slowly.

"I guess I'll try," she said. "But I don't know what good it would do."

"Wake me up if you need me," he said and she felt him press a kiss to her head.

"I will," she said and as time passed, she felt his breathing slow until he was once again fast asleep and she laid there and curled her hands into fists and squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think of anything.

_I've been corrected regarding the last chapter- Odessa is in Ukraine, not Iran. I had gotten confused when I tried to look it up and Natasha's line from CA:TWS had thrown me off. I'm sorry! It's fixed now. :)_

_Thanks to Guest for pointing it out! :) 3 I appreciate it. -BB_


	24. 24 hotel bed in Houston

24 [hotel bed in Houston]

James remained fast asleep for half of the morning and Natasha laid across him with her cell phone, wide awake and hard at work tracking Yelena Belova.

"She's still in Nebraska…," Natasha said after a while. She'd gotten into the new SHIELD's tracking resources and was searching photos and tweets and security camera info to find Belova. "There's been three sightings of her there in the past ten hours. She's getting careless."

"Mmmph," James said and rolled over a little and Natasha shifted around him and laid back down with her head on his stomach and her bare feet crossed in front of her, twisting in the sheets. The sun was starting to come up and light was coming through the curtains. She'd already gotten up once and shut them further so James could keep sleeping, but he couldn't do it in this bright light for long.

"You're gonna miss the continental breakfast, darling," she said, her eyes on her phone. She felt one of his hands-metal?-lazily stroke her hair.

"Mmm I don' need breakfas," James mumbled. She smiled a little, both because of him and because her hard work was paying off, and downloaded another fuzzy picture of Yelena onto her smartphone.

"You do," she said back distractedly. "Hate to break it to you, but humans have to eat. Even super ones."

"Can we jus stay here…," he said back and she looked up at him, his eyes closed and tired and stubble on his chin.

"Sure," she said back finally and she nuzzled her face into his chest, turning and moving her smartphone along with her. "We'll lay here forever."

"And everythin' else'll jus… Go away…," James replied slowly and Natasha laughed.

"Whatever you say," she said. Then, she pulled up all her social media accounts (surely the first thing Yelena Belova had even thought to stalk), and made one large post to all of them.

She took a few selfies to post with it, for good measure. She scooted up next to James' face and took one of her kissing his cheek while he smiled sleepily and another of her sitting up and smiling almost tauntingly at the camera with James under the sheets behind her. It was so brash and borderline uncharacteristic that it was almost a joke. It was perfect.

She wrote this in accompaniment;

"Vacation w bf James in Houston! Luv him 3 Were staying in the Holiday Inn on the second floor and havin SO much fun. ;) Ur move, Belova

#bejealous #vacationtime #houston #buckybarnes #romanoff #iamtheblackwidow"

Then, she clicked post.

"I'm putting some pictures of us up," she told James. He rolled over and sat up clumsily, then, squinting, looked over her shoulder at the post on her phone.

"Oh, geez," he said and she heard the cringe in his voice.

"What?" She said back. "You're cute when you're half asleep." Then, "Maybe I should have picked a nice filter…"

"You shouldn't take pictures of me," James groaned. "I wasn't even wearing a shirt."

"Shh, James, it was your right side, okay? They couldn't see anything," Natasha said and James didn't respond. Instead, she heard him get out of bed and start pulling on clothes. She heard him grumbling.

"Can't take pictures of me when I'm fully dressed and awake, _no_," he muttered. She turned around.

"James, it was a joke," she said. "I was showing Belova that she's not stopping us from being happy, okay? I was rubbing it in her face because you looked so content. Okay?"

James kept frowning.

"Do you want me to take them down?" Natasha asked and after a while, he shook his head.

"No…," he said. "We haven't got very many pictures of us anyway. Better keep the ones we do have."

"They couldn't see the scars at all, okay?" She added quietly. "I promise. I wouldn't do that to you." James looked over at her and her eyes flickered down from his face to his left shoulder and back. She watched him sigh.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. It's fine, really. They were-they were cute."

"Maybe we should take more pictures," Natasha suggested and James looked at her and smiled a little.

"Yeah, we should," he said back. "This _is_ a vacation, after all." Natasha stood up and smiled at him and held up her phone.

"Camera app's still open," she said. "Say cheese!" James smiled at her like he couldn't decide whether to be teasing or shy, and she turned the camera then and went around the bed to stand next to him. She held the phone out and stood on her tip toes. "Bend down and smile," she instructed and they took a few more.

They were good pictures. James turned and kissed her cheek and she got one of that, and she got several when she turned her face to him and started to kiss him back. She got a few when James started laughing too hard and had to stop and a couple more when they went down to breakfast together.

James was grinned broadly in one picture with a spoon of pudding halfway to his mouth and Natasha was busy captioning it "tapioca for the 96-year-old" when a woman at a table next to them said something that made her stop.

"Are you two on a honeymoon?" The woman asked delightedly and James stopped and smiled politely at her like the boy scout he was, but Natasha responded sharply.

"What?" She cried. "No! What would even make you think that?" She saw James' smile falter a little on the other side of the table.

"Well, you two seem so happy together, I guess I assumed," the woman said and Natasha frowned.

"We're not getting married," she said back and set her phone down. The woman looked like she didn't know what to say.

"It's okay," James started to try to say to smooth it over. He gave Natasha a look. "I'm sure we can easily be confused. We're just dating right now, Ms," he explained.

"You'd be a cute groom," the woman said to him and he smiled at her, clearly tickled.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said back and when the woman turned away, Natasha was already putting her phone back in her pocket and concentrating hard on finishing her danish. James looked at her with concern. "Natasha, what was that?" He asked quietly. "She wasn't trying to insult us."

"Well, she was wrong," Natasha said back and swallowed a bite of pastry.

"So she made an assumption-" James started and Natasha frowned.

"You know what they say about assumptions," she said. She watched James' expression harden.

"It really wasn't a big deal and you sort of bit her head off," he said back. Natasha let out a sigh and gave in.

"Sorry," she said and looked down at her plate. "I-I guess I'm, um, still tired." James' expression softened and he reached across the table then and put his gloved hand over hers.

"Did you not get back to sleep?" He asked gently and she shook her head. "What was it about? Do you want to talk about it?" Natasha felt everything in her sieze up and she took her hand back from James.

"No," she said quickly and stood up abruptly. "No, I don't." She felt James' eyes on her, and felt his shock, as she took her plate to the trash can. "I'm going back upstairs," she said to him once back at the table, looking down at his shocked face. He stood up and picked up his plate.

"Okay, I'm coming with you," he replied and as Natasha turned and started to leave, he followed, trying to eat while walking with one hand. "We could look up things to do here," he said as they waited for the elevator. "Maybe they have museums, or, um… Nice restaurants."

"I'm sure they do, but we aren't doing any of that yet," Natasha said. What was he thinking? Museums? They had to take care of Belova first!

"What?" James said and followed her onto the elevator as it dinged and the doors slid open. "What, but… Why not? I thought we were here to relax."

"We are," Natasha said. "So lets relax."

"Just in the hotel room?" James asked incredulously. "Some vacation."

"James, darling," Natasha said and she turned to him and almost laughed to see he had stuffed his entire mouth full of pudding. "James, we need to take care of the problem at hand first. This is hardly a vacation yet."

"Ah aaaah aha," James replied and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"You don't have to do anything!" She replied. "Just stay here. You can put on a movie or go back to sleep. You don't have to fight anyone off or drive for hours or exhaust yourself until you panic, okay? No stress."

"That really isn't what I wanted," James said back once he'd swallowed what he had in his mouth and Natasha sighed and shifted her shoulders.

"This isn't what either of us wanted," she said back.

_Happy 2015! :) -BB_


	25. 25 hotel room

25 [hotel room]

Natasha had had her Black Widow weapons express shipped to her through SHIELD and they arrived there later in the day. She took them out and strapped them back on and fired up her Widow's Bites. They jammed for a minute and Natasha frowned and started to slap them, but as soon as she did, they went off unexpectedly. The lampshade by the bed got hit with an electric blast and Natasha hurridly put out the fire before the alarms could go off. James lifted his head up from where he'd been laying on his stomach with his head in his arms and gasped. He jumped out of bed and ran to open the window.

"Why?" He cried. "Why would you do that?"

"It was an accident!" Natasha cried back and tore the black, crispy lampshade off the lamp. "They jammed."

"We're gonna have to pay them for that," James said and Natasha frowned at the lampshade, irritated.

"James, I've been telling you, it won't matter. SHIELD'll probably cover it," she reassured him.

"Probably?" James said. "We don't exactly have bank accounts to burn here, Natalia," he said to her, and then glanced down at the lampshade in her hands. "Or, electrocute."

"We'll be fine," Natasha said, but James seemed unassured.

"The hotels, the lampshade, the car," he started counting off and then groaned. "The _car_. That'll make a real dent in funds if SHIELD doesn't help."

"I'm sure they will," Natasha said. "After all, this is technically Widow business."

"What if they don't?" James said anxiously and Natasha looked at him.

"Don't worry about it," she said, because she knew she had ways of fixing the debt that James didn't need to hear about, but he still looked upset. He sat back down on the bed cautiously, as though he were afraid he'd break one more thing and be back out on the street.

"Okay…," he said slowly. "Fine, Nat, you win."

"It wasn't a fight," Natasha replied as she dismantled her weaponry and began to place it back into the box. James looked at her.

"_Okay_ then," he said and she looked back up at him and raised her eyebrows.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay!" He said.

"Okay…," Natasha said with some finality and James shrugged.

"Okay," he said casually.

"Stop saying okay!" Natasha cried and threw her hands up in the air and James opened his mouth as though he were about to say it again, and then stopped himself.

"Fine," he replied and Natasha ground her teeth together.

"I'm not responding to that," she said.

"Did I make you mad?" James asked.

"I'm not mad," she said.

"You sound mad," James said.

"Stop harping on it!" Natasha said.

"Okay!" James cried.

"I said stop saying okay!" She yelled and James stopped then, stunned, his mouth open and his eyes wide. The silence after seemed to ring and Natasha felt every millisecond of guilt. "Oh," she said quietly to James' hurt face. "I'm sorry." He turned away from her then and she couldn't see his face anymore and she felt anxious. "Really, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you…"

"It's, uh," James said and he turned back and dropped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes. "It's fine. I understand." Natasha swallowed and she wasn't sure what else to say, so she finished boxing up her weapons and set them on top of the TV.

She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Okay," she said.


	26. 26 on the street in Nebraska

26 [on the street in Nebraska]

"What do you mean, you lost her?!" Yelena's father screamed on the phone and Yelena bit her lip and swallowed. "Do you want to be the Black Widow or not, child?!"

"I'm gonna find her!" Yelena said back weakly. She was pacing outside a gas station in Nebraska, hugging a winter coat around herself and trying to reassure the man as much as herself. "It'll be okay."

"You will!" The man yelled. "And you must kill her soon!"

"I-" Yelena started, but her father continued.

"Or we'll send someone else! And that someone will kill you, too, Yelena!" He cried. Yelena felt her stomach drop with fear.

"You don't have to do that," Yelena said.

"Natasha Romanoff dies," the man threatened. "Russia will have a new Black Widow. And it matters very little to me whether or not it is you. You weren't the singular Red Room success."

"I know," Yelena said quietly.

"So do the job, little girl," the man replied and hung up and Yelena crammed her phone back into her purse and collapsed on the bench and put her face in her hands.

"Something the matter, little girl?" Someone next to her said and Yelena almost jumped because the words so mirrored the man's. She looked up and over to see a homeless man sitting next to her. Uncomfortably, she scooted away.

"Nothing," she said back.

"You have an accent," the homeless man noted. "Where are you from?" Yelena looked down at the ground and used her toe to scratch at the dirty pavement.

"I was born in Russia," she said back finally.

"Oh," the man said. "Are you here visiting?" Yelena shook her head then and raised one hand to put her too-bouncy curls behind her ear.

"I'm working," she said back and looked up at the man. "But I'm afraid I'm doing a terrible job of it."

"That's not good to hear," the man replied and Yelena frowned and looked back down and shook her head again.

"Have you ever…," she started quietly. "Ever had the opportunity of a lifetime put in front of your face? And it's like everything you've ever wanted is right there and suddenly, you're so stunned that it's there and you're almost so scared to have it that you let it slip away?" The man sat there for a minute and considered this.

"I do believe I know what you're talking about," he said back and Yelena sighed.

"Well, that's happened to me," she said. "It was like finding a gold bar on the street. Or a ticket to everywhere in your pocket. It's almost too easy." She looked at the man. "I could have everything I've ever dreamed of and I'm hesitating."

"Why?" The man asked and Yelena sighed. She put her hands into her pockets and leaned back.

"I guess I'm afraid," she said. "See it's, um…" And she stopped and tried to think of a way to explain her situation. "This job I want. This ideal job. I know I'm perfect for it, much more perfect than the person who's doing it now, and it'd be so easy to just take it. But I've waited for this all my life and now I'm scared."

"Oh," the man said, and it seemed like he was going to go on, but Yelena kept talking.

"I'll be kind of sad to take it from the person who already has it," she said. "But not sad enough to not do it. In fact, I'm almost excited to take it from them. It'd be a sort of honor. And I'm so good at this job. I'm so, so good. She's not as good as me, and she's getting older, and she even has a boyfriend!" Yelena cried.

"She shouldn't have a boyfriend?" The man asked and Yelena shrugged.

"I dunno, I guess she can," she said. "But it's not really characteristic of the, um, job. It's a little sentimental, for someone who's not supposed to have attachments. He's an easy target, and he's dead weight. I think she doesn't even know who she's supposed to be anymore, with regards to the job, of course. It's only a special kind of woman who can perform this job. I know what that woman should be."

"This seems like a very interesting job," the man said and Yelena nodded.

"It is," she said. "It's the very best."

"It seems as though, if this is something you want so badly and you're so much better, you should just take it. Don't be afraid," the man said and Yelena began to smile.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess you're right. I shouldn't let cold feet stop me."

"You shouldn't," the man replied. Yelena turned to him. She was grinning.

"It's so perfect," she said. "I can prove myself. There's a lot of honor that goes along with this job, you know. Everyone will know how good I am. And my parents want me to have it, and my country wants me to have it. It's what I've been trained for, you know."

"Good luck," the man said and Yelena smiled at him sweetly and stood up.

"Thank you," she said as she took him by the collar and hauled him up. "You really helped me sort things out."

"What are you doing?!" The homeless man cried and Yelena pulled out a switchblade lazily with one hand and flicked it open.

"I swear, it's not personal," she promised him as she pressed it to his throat. "It's just that, you know too much." She shrugged. "I needed someone to vent to."

"What?!" The man cried and Yelena smiled at him again.

"This is part of what makes me best for this new job," Yelena said sweetly and sliced his throat. "I'm just giving you a demonstration."

She cleaned the blade off on his jacket and dropped his body back onto the bench and strolled back to her car.

"Everyone will know how much better I am than you, Natalia Romanova," Yelena said in Russian once she sat in the drivers seat and pulled out her smartphone, scrolling through the new intel she was receiving. "I'm what the Black Widow is supposed to be. It seems you've forgotten."


	27. 27 hotel room

27[hotel room]

The day was spent, from morning to night, in the hotel room. James didn't talk much and instead, laid on the bed and stared out the window and brooded. Natasha spent most of the day on her smartphone on the other side of the room, working through SHIELD and muttering to herself.

"When does she get here," James asked later in the day after a few hours of silence and Natasha almost jumped at hearing him. She looked over.

"What?" She said and James shifted and looked at her.

"You're trying to guess Belova's next move," he said. "So when will she be here?" Natasha looked back down at her phone and frowned.

"Probably soon. She might be mad that it's not a chase anymore," she said.

"What'll we do?" James asked.

"She'll come in to fight us and I'll shoot her in the face pointblank," Natasha replied bluntly and James swallowed and didn't say anything else after that.

Later in the day, James approached Natasha again.

"You wanna go get dinner at least?" He asked her, standing next to her chair and trying to get her attention. "You've been at this all day, your eyes are red."

Natasha glanced up at him and didn't respond. She looked back down and James followed her gaze, kneeling on the ground and taking her free hand in his. She avoided his face and felt him kiss her fingers pleadingly.

"Come on," he said gently. "It'll be fun."

"And we'll come back to find our room ransacked," Natasha replied and set her phone down to put her other hand on top of James'.

"What is she gonna steal?" James asked. "We have nothing. Look, come on, let me get you a dinner, a drink, something."

"I don't know about that," Natasha said.

"Please," James said.

"Aren't you the one worrying about money?" She asked and James made a face.

"Well, yeah, but we've been in this hotel all day and we came out here to have some fun, didn't we?" He said. "They don't serve a continental dinner, you know."

"I know," Natasha sighed. That's when James looked down and swallowed and she watched him shift on his knees and felt him squeeze her hands. He looked back up at her, armed with puppy dog eyes and a pout, and she expected him to beg her further, but he didn't.

"Talia, I'm…," he said and frowned and looked at her eyes. "I'm _worried_ about you."

"What?" Natasha exclaimed. James shrugged.

"Don't act so surprised," he said. "I've literally never seen you so stressed, so… Edgy. You're jumping at little things and getting irritable and you're anxious and you don't sleep well. I feel like this whole Yelena Belova thing is more than just an ordinary Black Widow ordeal."

"Is there really such thing as an ordinary Black Widow ordeal?" Natasha asked and she looked back at him and cocked her head. "James, you're sweet, but I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine," James said and Natasha carefully took her hands back from him and placed them on his shoulders. She put on her best liars face, which, by all means, was very very good.

"Darling," she said and she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "It's alright." He put his hands on her wrists and leaned into her, looking up desperately from where he knelt on the ground.

"Then go out with me," he begged. "I'm asking for one dinner to forget about this mess." Natasha sighed and closed her eyes exhaustedly.

"I can't let her win," she said back.

"I don't understand," James replied weakly. "She's not _going_ to win; you're better than her! You shouldn't be worried about this at all."

"But I am," Natasha said and James let out a breath. She felt his shoulders rise and fall.

"I know," he said back, and then began to climb to his feet. She let her hands fall away from him and turned her face away. "So you won't come with me?"

"I can't," Natasha said back and James was silent for a moment.

"I'll bring something back," he told her, and then he was pulling on his coat and gloves and she heard the door shut behind him and she put her head down on the desk and squeezed her eyes shut and felt all of a sudden as though she would cry.


	28. 28 in the hotel

28 [in the hotel]

As soon as the door shut behind him, Bucky immediately dialed Clint Barton on his cell phone.

"Uhh," the answer came after a few rings. "This Natasha?"

"No," Bucky said and began to walk down the hall, pulling his collar up around his face in preparation for the cold outside. "No, this is Bucky."

"Oh." Clint sounded surprised. "Sorry, I guess I just… You don't really call me to chat, Barnes," he explained himself awkwardly.

"This isn't just a chat," Bucky said and frowned. "It's about Natasha." Clint was quiet for a moment.

"The thing Steve was telling me about," he said and trailed off.

"Yeah," Bucky said. "That thing." He sighed and looked around him, as though he expected Natalia to be right behind him. "She insists on being secretive about it. I doubt she would have even told me if I hadn't already been here."

"What's going on?" Clint said and Bucky hesitated. He glanced back again in the direction of the hotel room.

"Nothing we can't handle," he said. "Ask Steve about it."

"Then why did you call me?" Clint asked. He sounded as though he was starting to get irritated.

"I wanted to know if you'd ever seen Natalia, uh…," Bucky frowned. "Stress out."

There was a fast food restaurant just down the street and Bucky was a little afraid to be out completely alone, given his past experiences with being jumped, but they had to eat and he was distracted by Clint. After all, he thought. It was a big city, and an alive one. There were people everywhere and they couldn't _all_ be Red Room goons.

He left the hotel and crossed the street and made his way to the restaurant.

"What do you mean, stress out?!" Clint exclaimed and Bucky sucked in a breath.

"She's not acting like herself," he said. "She's, uh, having nightmares and she's getting irritable and she won't do anything with me. All she does is work on figuring out this, this, uh, _thing_ all day. And it's not good for her."

"Oh," Clint said. "Wow."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. "It's terrible and I'm at a loss. So I figured, I mean, you know her really well. Thought I'd ask you for advice. Is there anything I can do to help her? Calm her down? She's just got me worried."

"I dunno," Clint admitted. He was silent for a moment, and during this time, Bucky got into the restaurant and ordered something to go from the counter. He surveyed the restaurant. No staring people. Without thinking, he tugged his sleeve down further over his left arm. "You said she was having nightmares?" Clint said.

"Yeah," Bucky replied.

"What were they about?" He asked and Bucky pressed his mouth together.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She wouldn't tell me."

"Well, whatever it is, you gotta get her mind off it for a while," Clint said. "That's what I used to do, when she got back from Russia and, I dunno, she was pretty stressed out then. I'd talk to her or take her out or put on music or something."

"I've tried," Bucky said. "I tried to get her out to dinner tonight and she refused."

"If she's refusing you, I'm not sure what else you can do," Clint replied. Then, "You're being good to her, right?"

"What?" Bucky replied. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing," Clint said. "You were saying?"

"Just…," Bucky said slowly, suspiciously. "Just that she's in a bad place. And I want to make her happy." You're being good to her, right? Pfft! Of course he was! Who did Barton think he was, insinuating that somehow Bucky would mistreat Natalia?

"What else is she doing?" Clint asked.

"She's got a shorter fuse than usual," Bucky said. "It's uncharacteristic. She doesn't talk much."

"Wow," Clint said again.

"And the secrets, Clint," he added and used his free hand to rub his face tiredly. "I can't even be sure she's not keeping something from me right now! Were you ever able to get her to be open with you?"

"I think you're going about it wrong," Clint said. "If you wanna love Nat, you just have to accept that there will be things you'll never know about her."

Bucky was stunned to hear this answer.

"What?" He said.

"Sorry Barnes, but that's who Nat is. Take her or leave her," Clint said.

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," Bucky replied. "What, so you're saying you just let her isolate herself? You let her keep all these secrets? Tell all these lies?"

"Um, yeah," Clint said back hotly. "I did. And she appreciated that I trusted her."

"I trust her!" Bucky replied and he was beginning to feel rather angry himself. "Of course I trust her!"

"Then trust that she can take care of herself," Clint said back.

"That's not what friendship and love is about," Bucky replied through gritted teeth. "She doesn't have to take care of herself alone while I'm around."

"You don't have to know everything about her to love her!" Clint yelled.

"Is it seriously so wrong for me to want to know the woman I love?!" Bucky yelled back.

"Back off of her!" Clint cried. "You're probably the reason she's so stressed! Cause you're on her back all the damn time with your questions!"

"Take that back!" Bucky growled.

"You can't understand Natasha Romanoff, Barnes," Clint said back.

"I'm sorry you couldn't keep her," Bucky said sharply. "But I'm _not_ going to let Natalia cut me out like this! I'm not going to let her keep herself a secret to me until she's just faded away, like what probably happened with you two!"

The next thing Bucky heard was the beeping of the line dropped on the other end and he scowled and snapped his phone closed and crammed it into his pocket.

"Barton," he growled to himself and when his food was ready, he took it and stormed angrily back to the hotel room, no better off than before.


	29. 29 hotel room

29 [hotel room]

That night, James coaxed Natasha gently into bed with him and began to talk to her.

"You shouldn't bottle things up," she heard him say as he pulled sheets up around them both. "That's what got Steve where he was."

"I'm not," Natasha said.

"Sure," James replied. Then, he sighed, his chest rising and falling. "I swear, you two demand a privacy that's borderline isolation."

"I'm not keeping anything from you," Natasha insisted.

"But is that because you don't know how to share it?" James said and Natasha ground her teeth together. She turned over and looked at him with hard eyes.

"Cut it out," she said and James put up his hands.

"Alright, alright," he said and she rolled over again and stared at the wall.

"This isn't a therapy session," she continued angrily. "Don't psychoanalyze me." James was quiet.

"I just wanna help," he finally said and she turned over on her back and looked at him again.

"We'll be fine when this is all over," she said and James started shaking his head. The look in his eyes was devastating.

"No," he said. "No, don't do this to me, Talia." He looked like he'd sit up, so Natasha turned around again and refused to look at him.

"Just go to sleep, James," she said. "We don't have to do this now."

And when James didn't answer, she closed her eyes and fell into an anxious sleep.

She knew he was just concerned and she hadn't wanted to snap at him, as she had been doing increasingly the longer they'd been out, but she felt frustration bubbling under the surface of her skin, and maybe even a fear under that. She was afraid.

Later that night, Natasha woke up again. She hadn't slept well and she felt that tiredness set in her bones, like it does when you've exhausted yourself down to your core and everything is sore. However, it was still dark and she could hear James' soft breathing behind her, but something had roused her… Something had woken her up. What was it?

Natasha lay in the dark and listened in to the silence, hyper-aware of the things around her and all too awake. There! There it was! A creak, like a board, like someone stepping on the floor…

Natasha bolted up, fear insider her heart, and she saw in the outline of the moonlight from the window, a figure drawing near to her. Her heart stopped. In many cases, it might be someone's first instinct to scream, but it wasn't Natasha's, because she knew who this was. And although she was only wearing her t-shirt from that day and a pair of pink panties, she lept out of bed and tackled the dark figure. She heard a high-pitched cry and heard the breath knocked out of Yelena Belova as she hit the ground with Natasha on top of her.

As soon as Yelena's head smacked the floor and Natasha saw those blonde curls bounce, she started punching. Yelena seemed stunned and for a while, she didn't fight Natasha's flying fists, the ones pounding into her cheeks and her mouth and her head. But once she got her bearings, Yelena began to fight back and cry out. Natasha slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shut up," she hissed under her breath. "My boyfriend is sleeping."

During this lull, Yelena was able to grab Natasha and throw her off and she dragged herself shakily to her feet. In the dark, Natasha could see she was wearing that horrible outfit that mimicked her's.

"I'll be as loud as I want!" Yelena cried, not quietly, and Natasha heard James shuffling and she ground her teeth together. They watched James sit up disorientedly and frantically pull up sheets to cover his bare chest and the scars there.

"What is going on?!" He cried when he saw them, holding blankets up to his neck awkwardly. Neither Yelena or Natasha answered, and in fact, Yelena took this opportunity to jump Natasha again. Natasha gasped as hands wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze. Yelena shoved Natasha up against the wall and started to bash her head and suddenly, Natasha was seeing stars. She reached out, scratching and clawing at Yelena, scraping at the bare skin at her midriff.

Can't let her win, can't let her win, can't let her win!

She can't have my name!

Natasha reached now for Yelena's hands at her throat and clawed at her gloved fingers. Where was James?! Then, Natasha pulled up her knee and hit Yelena in the gut repeatedly until Yelena's fingers slackened. Natasha pulled away and saw her Widow's Bites, still in the box on the other side of the room, and she made a run for it. She reached the weapons and turned around and she almost missed watching Yelena hold out her own outstretched arm and activate her own Widow's Bites in Natasha's direction. She almost missed seeing James leap out in front of the shot of electricity, almost missed seeing it outline his frame in blue, seeing him convulse and scream and hit the ground. She stopped and stared, her mouth open, horrified. He'd taken a shot for her.

Yelena almost seemed as surprised as Natasha. She stared at James, on the ground groaning, who seemed conflicted about which pain was worse, the one burning in his skin or the one burning in his head, and Natasha began to scream.

She stepped around James, who was holding his head and scooting himself up against the wall, and lunged for Yelena.

"How dare you?!" She screamed. She slapped her open Widow's Bites up against Yelena's chest and activated them and they burned her hand, too, but Yelena felt the worst pain of the electricity rattling her bones. When she was able to shove Natasha away, she clutched at her chest, gasping.

"It's not...," she breathed. "My fault… That he jumped...!"

"Well you're going to pay for it anyway," Natasha yelled and she squared her feet and kicked Yelena in the face. Yelena stumbled back and sucked in a loud breath and James was starting to weep on the other side of the room. Natasha was all rage and emotion. She stalked after Yelena and grabbed her by the collar and yanked her close. "You want my name?" She hissed. "You can't be me!" Yelena's eyes hardened and she glowered.

"Too late," she said back. "I already am."

Yelena grabbed Natasha's wrists and pulled her off and threw her to the ground. She pulled a knife out of her belt deftly and reached down and grabbed Natasha by her hair. Natasha screamed as she was hauled up and then there was a banging at the door.

"What's going on in there?! Open up!" Someone on the other side yelled and then the door burst open and the room flooded with light. Natasha was trying to get her hair back from Yelena and she heard Yelena laugh. She expected to feel the knife's cold edge at her throat, but she gasped to feel instead, Yelena hacking at her _hair_. She felt the knife up against her scalp and felt the pulling and then loose strands of long hair began to collect on her shoulders and, stunned, she screamed. As soon as Yelena let her lose, Natasha reached up to feel her hair gone and a sudden lightness around her shoulders that she hadn't felt in a long time. On the ground, she whirled around to see Yelena escaping out the window and she crawled to her feet and raced to the window and screamed more.

"You can't be me!" She screamed out the window and she fell down to the ground and sat there, stunned, as tears ran down her face and she reached up again to touch her hair.

The security guards at the door seemed at a loss.

"B-Black Widow," James stammered and he was dragging himself to his feet now and wiping his face and Natasha could see he was shaking. He looked at the people in the doorway. "SHIELD business…" The people responded to him, but Natasha was slipping and she didn't hear them anymore. She ran her hand down the back of her head again and then she felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath her and she thought she might puke and her heart was racing and suddenly, she just couldn't take it.

"I'll _kill her!_" Natasha screamed. "I'm gonna KILL BELOVA! HOW DARE SHE! SHE CAN'T BE ME!"

James had his arms around her as she screamed. He was pulling her up and she leaned on him and felt tears coursing down her cheeks now and her screaming dissolved into sobs. James was wearing a shirt now, and his pants, and he was pulling her up onto the bed with him and letting her fall into his lap.

"You got shot…," Natasha said through her tears. She reached up and touched his chest and pulled away as he winced. What was worse, she knew, was that electricity had always had a painful effect on the programming left by Hydra in his brain. Once, it had left him entirely inactive for a whole day.

"It wasn't so bad," he replied quietly and she felt him put a hand on the back of her neck and she reached back with him and her fingers brushed his as she felt her hair, cropped and too-close and she began to cry again. "I used your name and they gave us one more night here," he explained. "They haven't kicked us out… Yet."

Natasha was only half listening. She kept running her hands through her hair and trying to stop from trembling.

"I hate her," Natasha whispered.


	30. 30 hotel room

30 [hotel room]

In the morning, James' first priority seemed to be to get Natasha to a hair salon. She had spent the evening standing in front of the mirror and staring at her hacked hair with teary eyes. In the back, where the knife had met her scalp, her hair was almost crew cut, but the front was still long-ish and hung in uneven chunks around her face. It looked horrible and she gasped when she first saw it. She couldn't recognize herself and she realized, as more tears came, that maybe she hadn't known herself to begin with. Not being able to recognize herself was not a new feeling and she hated it.

James stayed up with her and listened to her rant and sob and he didn't ask anymore questions like he had tried to earlier and as soon as the sun came up, he convinced her to dress herself and took her face and wiped her tears and told her that while she had been in the bathroom, he'd called a nearby salon and made her an emergency appointment.

"I think it's cute," he told her. "Short hair is lovely."

"_She_ did this to me…," Natasha growled back and James fell quiet.

The thing was, it wasn't about the short hair. Not exactly. It was the fact that Yelena had taken away something of Natasha's identity, that Yelena had changed her appearance without her consent, had violated her. It was the fact that Yelena had made Natasha a woman with a red face and puffy eyes and hacked hair and that Natasha was realizing for the first time in a long time that she didn't recognize that person.

Who am I? Natasha thought as she ran her hands through her hair again in the mirror that night and she grit her teeth and glared back at herself and thought, _I am the Black Widow._

I am the Black Widow! And you can't be me!

James took Natasha to the salon and she heard him tell the hairdresser that they'd had an accident with a pair of scissors and if she could redo her hair please? And Natasha sat and stared at herself in the mirror again while the hairdresser worked and she fumed.

In the end, both James and Natasha had to admit that her hair wasn't an utter disaster. He had been right, Natasha thought begrudgingly, because the short hair didn't look bad, not now while it was recut and styled. The hairdresser had reshaped the hair around her face until it curled into her cheeks and had evened out the back so when Natasha ran her hands through it, it felt cleaner and healthier and almost like this whole thing had happened on purpose.

"You look beautiful," James tried to tell her and finally, she let him. She stared at herself in the mirror and thought bitterly, I am the Black Widow.

They had lost their hotel reservation and now had to find a new one and Natasha could see it wearing on James, scaring him. He didn't like to feel homeless, she knew. He was becoming antsy and anxious, but he was trying to ignore it in order to help Natasha. She felt her heart swell at this and it reminded her how much she loved him. He was a sacrificer. He gave things up for other people. But she hated to see him have to give up things for her.

They found another hotel and James seemed to relax a little, some of the tension easing out of his face and his shoulders, but Natasha didn't feel any better and she sat down on the bed and covered her face with her hands. She felt James sit next to her.

"I'm the Black Widow, James," she said through her hands.

"Yeah, Talia, I know," James replied.

"She can't be me," Natasha continued.

"Well, of course not," James said and he shifted a little and put his arm around Natasha's shoulders. She dropped her hands and leaned into him. "But, Nat, you… _You_ aren't the Black Widow. The Black Widow is you."

"That makes absolutely no sense," Natasha said.

"No, listen," James replied. "The Black Widow, it's just a title, Talia. _You_ are Natalia Romanova. And the Black Widow is Natalia and that's all. But you are more than the Black Widow. There's more of you than that. Does that make more sense?"

Natasha reached up and smoothed her hair down and considered this. It had never occurred to her before.

"I know what you're trying to say, but I think you're wrong," she finally said. I am the Black Widow.

"Natalia…," James said and Natasha pushed herself away from him then so she could look him directly in the face.

"Look, James," she said. "You're not the Winter Soldier. That's not you." James seemed suddenly uncomfortable. She could see it in the way his lips pursed and how he brought his arms closer into himself, as though he wanted to become smaller.

"Well," he admitted. "No."

"But I'm the Black Widow," Natasha replied. "That's all I have and that's who I am and I know it's not like you, but Natalia Romanova is the Black Widow." James started to shake his head. He was looking at her with his eyebrows furrowed and she wasn't sure if he was making that face because of what she had said about the Winter Soldier or about what she was saying now. She nodded her head to disagree with him then. "Yes," she said.

"You're more than just your codename," James argued. "And even if she took that somehow, which she _won't_, it wouldn't be the end of the world and it wouldn't be the end of you because there's a Natalia Romanova without the Black Widow. She can exist without it."

"I don't know about that, James," Natasha said.

"Well I do," James replied adamantly. "It's not all you have, Nat. I promise.

"She can't be me," Natasha said.

"And she isn't going to be. Because you are you," James said and he was trying to sound comforting, but his face was frustrated.

Natasha wasn't really sure how to explain herself to him. He just didn't get it.

"You don't understand," she said.

"Then make me understand," he pleaded and, well, she would if she could.

The bottom line was that the Widow had always been what Natasha had had by way of a permanent identity and she was beginning to realize the strain of that on a deep level now. In the end, this was why Belova was such a threat. Natasha shuddered. She didn't just threaten her life; she threatened her very self. She made Natasha ask questions that Natasha didn't want to ask, let alone answer. She had reinvented herself often, over and over and over, and she had Steve had talked about truth, and honesty.

What if everything is a lie, Steve? Natasha thought. What if, when you take off the mask, there's nothing there?

Natasha touched her hair again and James leaned close to her and tucked a piece behind her ear. His hand cupped her cheek, and then slid back to rest on her neck and he leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned her head. James stopped where he was and studied her face for a minute, then took his hand back and sat back silently. Natasha glanced over at him.

"James," Natasha said to him in a hushed voice, as though there was anyone to overhear.

"Yes?" He said back.

"You've looked into the mirror and not recognized who you saw," she said to him, as though she had to ask, as if she had to confirm. Predictably, he tensed and for a moment, his eyes strayed from hers.

"Yes," he said again. Natasha hesitated and swallowed.

"Me too," she replied.


	31. 31 thrift store in Houston

31 [thrift store in Houston]

More shopping became a necessity, and more buying, because they'd left everything they had in Nebraska. Bucky could feel the costs adding up and tension built in his heart. Admittedly, his memories of the Great Depression were patchy, but the anxiety clearly remained and he caught himself counting pennies and wondering if there was any possible way they could spend less. He had memories of his mother doing the same eighty years ago.

He knew logically that Natalia must be somewhat right. They were pretty well-off and money wasn't usually a problem and the odds that SHIELD would help were good, but he couldn't help but feel scared. He had even begun to save up receipts and he hated to feel so high-strung, but everything was adding up and he hadn't expected it.

It surprised him to realize that they'd been out for eight days. They should have been home by now, should have been back to Steve by now. Steve needed them, needed their support. Bucky made a mental note to call him later and check up. But for now, he was out at a thrift store with Natalia, hanging a few used shirts off his forearm and telling himself not to look at the price tags.

Natalia held up another t-shirt in front of her and then turned around and held it up to Bucky, draping it over his shoulders to determine the fit.

"This is good…," she muttered to herself and hung it on his arm with the rest of their clothes.

"I wish we hadn't had to leave everything," he mentioned.

"Easier for travelling," she replied thoughtfully as she turned around and picked another shirt off the rack.

"Easier for running," he said spitefully and she looked up at him.

"Belova probably had all that stuff tagged and tracked," she said. "Remember, it had been in her hands when she kidnapped us. We couldn't have kept it any longer." Bucky sighed and didn't want to respond because he knew she was right.

Natalia picked out a few of the cleanest-looking shirts and pants for herself as well and took it all to the counter to pay, with Bucky behind her like a shadow. He trained his eyes on the floor because he knew if he'd look up, he'd see himself six or seven months ago, nervously stealing clean things off the shelves and trying to keep his face and his hand hidden. He didn't want to remember it anymore than he already did, the period after Hydra, but before Steve. It had been difficult, to say the least, and unfamiliar places and cheap hotels and dirty thrift stores brought the memories back vividly.

At least he wasn't alone this time, he told himself.

Natalia found an old, giant carpet bag and paid for it as well and crammed their new purchases into it as they walked out. Bucky took the receipt, but told himself not to look. Instead, he crumbled it in his left hand and crammed it into his back pocket.

On the way back to the hotel, they passed shops and store fronts and Bucky made an effort to engage Natalia, pointing things out and trying to make jokes and window shop with her. He wanted her mind off Belova and his mind off six months ago.

They passed a bridal shop. Bucky forgot to keep walking.

He stared into the window wistfully until Natalia turned around and came back for him, the carpetbag swinging at her side and her newly cut bangs teased by a cold wind.

"What are you looking at?" She asked and he looked down at her.

"Nothing," he said and she slipped her free hand into his, twining their fingers together and suddenly, he couldn't help but imagine a ring on her hand and he swallowed. "Nothing, just… It's stupid."

Natalia glanced over at the shop and he felt suddenly all too aware and anxious, like one does when they know someone is recognizing something in them. When Natalia looked back over, she'd already hidden her original reaction under a playful grin.

"You want a dress, Barnes?" She teased.

"Uh," Bucky said, because he couldn't think of anything else and his mind had gone blank. Natalia laughed and began to walk again, dragging him along.

"Get you something white," she said. "A low-cut back. Wide skirt. Or are you more of a mermaid dress kind of guy?"

"I just thought they were impressive…," Bucky replied almost shyly and looked at the ground, because he didn't know how to joke back about this. Natalia looked at him as they walked, he could feel her studying his face, and then she began to swing their hands as they walked.

"They were nice," she said and looked forward. Bucky looked down at her. Her face looked like a lie.

Later that day, when Natalia got in the shower, Bucky stood by the window and called Steve.

"Got attacked again last night," he said when Steve answered. "She cut Natalia's hair and she's really, really upset."

"That sounds upsetting," Steve said. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky said and looked away from the window and down at the ugly carpet and rubbed it with his heel. "Everyone's okay. We couldn't even put a scratch on Belova."

"Well at least you're alright," Steve said back. Then, "It's good to hear from you."

"We should have been back by now," Bucky said. "For you."

"But what about _you_?" Steve replied.

"Fine," Bucky said and dropped down on the bed. He could hear the shower running behind him. "I just… About the attack. Thought I'd let you know."

"Thanks," Steve said. "Buck, is something up with you? You sound really… Dejected." Bucky sighed.

"Natalia's…," he said. "She's just stressed, I guess, and she's not acting like herself. So I'm worried about her. And I tried to talk to Clint about it, but I don't think he likes me and we just ended up arguing, so he was absolutely no help. I don't know what to do."

"What's she doing?" Steve asked. Bucky glanced back behind him at the closed bathroom door.

"She's, uh, short-tempered and anxious and she hasn't been sleeping well. We talked about it a little today and I think she finally told me something," Bucky said. "I think she's almost having some sort of identity crisis because of this Belova thing, I dunno, and I feel like I of all people should know how to help, but I just don't." Bucky rubbed his face tiredly. "Nothing has gone right so far. Everything that could have gone wrong has, Steve."

"... I wish I knew what to say," Steve said.  
>"You don't have to say anything," Bucky said. "I get it, I'm at a loss, too." He sighed. "You know, I'd just like something normal at this point. Something sort of happy. Is that too much to ask?"<p>

"Course not," Steve said and Bucky continued.

"I really love Nat," he said. "Like to be with her forever."

"Do you wanna marry her?" Steve asked and Bucky stared at the carpet.

"I-I dunno," he said. "I was thinking about it today and… I don't know, it wouldn't be horrible. I think we make each other happy."

"What does she think of that?" Steve asked. Bucky shook his head.

"I haven't mentioned it to her," he said. "Not really. I'm worried about bringing it up because she's already so stressed out. I don't want to give her one more thing on her mind, you know?"

"Yeah," Steve said.

"But I don't wanna be a hypocrite," Bucky continued. "I don't wanna keep things from her."

"You know, Valentine's Day is in a few days," Steve suggested.

"What?" Bucky said. "When?"

"Fourteenth, same as always," Steve said. "It's coming up."

"Yeah…," Bucky said. "I guess…"

"So say something then if you want to," Steve continued. "Seems appropriate. You can at least discuss the idea."

Bucky considered this for a moment.

"I'll think about it," he said. "I'm not even really sure what I want, Steve."

"That's an important thing to know," Steve commented and Bucky scoffed.

"Yeah," he said and he sighed. "Thanks for listening."

"No problem, Bucky," Steve said and Bucky smiled a little.

"We'll be back as soon as we can," he said.

"I'm counting on it," Steve said back and Bucky hung up the phone.


	32. 32 hotel room

32 [hotel room]

Later that day, Natasha answered a phone call from Clint and she excused herself out into the hall to talk to him.

"Hey," he said when she picked up. "I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to you in a while."

"I've been busy…," she said and she paced up and down the hall, staring at her pink socks on the carpet. Then, she took a deep breath. She added, "I got a haircut."

"Really?" Clint said. "You should send me pictures."

"I dunno, I don't really like it," Natasha said.

"Aw, come on, Nat," Clint said. "Give it time. I'm sure you look great." Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Thanks," she said, mostly because she didn't want to explain further and she wanted to drop it.

"So, um, how have you been?" Clint asked. "You know, I talked to your boyfriend and he said you've been stressed out. Is everything alright?" Natasha frowned at the floor now and stopped pacing.

"You talked to James?" She asked.

"Yeah," Clint said. "He called me. Guess he's worried about you."

"Oh…," Natasha said.

"Well?" Clint said. "What's up?"

"Just been sort of, um," Natasha said. "Stretched thin, I guess. There's a lot on my plate. It's hard to explain." She reached up and pushed her hair back and ran her hand down the back of her head.

"Yeah," Clint said. "Of course, I understand." Natasha smiled.

"Thanks, Clint," she said. "You're a good friend."

"Look, uh," Clint said awkwardly. "You sound okay. I called to check up and I guess you're dealing, but, um…" Clint hesitated.

"Spit it out, Barton," Natasha said and rolled her eyes with a smile.

"What's going on? What's happening with you?" He finally asked and Natasha stopped and her face darkened.

"You're breaking your promise," she accused.

"I can't just never know, Nat!" Clint cried. "I'm worried about you now, too and all I'm getting is second hand information. I'm just worried"

"I know, Clint, but you promised," Natasha said. "You promised me no questions. Ever." Clint sucked in a breath and the other end of the line was silent for a while.

"Yeah, fine," he said. "Okay, fine."

"I can handle it," Natasha said.

"Sure," Clint said and then his voice softened. "I'm sure you can. You always do."

"Don't worry about me, please," Natasha begged. "I'll be back in DC before you know it."

"Are you having fun?" Clint asked. "Or am I not allowed to know?" Natasha sighed. Clint waited a second, then added awkwardly. "It was a joke."

"I know," she said. Then, she added, "Yeah. There are fun parts."

"Wow, sounds like a dream vacation. A few fun parts," Clint retorted and Natasha smiled a little now.

"It could be worse," she said. "I'm sure. Somehow." Then, so he wouldn't ask about it further, Natasha changed the subject quickly and asked him about how he was doing and if the dog was doing well and if he would be free when she got back to have a lunch or something. Clint chatted away and Natasha stopped and put her back against the wall next to the hotel room and listened to him until finally, they said goodbye and hung up and Natasha stared down at her phone screen and then looked up at the ceiling and sighed. She didn't know why, but after having talked to him, she felt worse than she had before.


	33. 33 Russia

33 [Russia]

Natalia thought that maybe, she'd like to stay a dancer. She found that she had never loved life as much as she did when she was dancing, and there was a bubbling sort of childish excitement in her when she got the opportunity to lace up her ballet slippers.

Not all of the Black Widow candidates had been taught to dance in addition to their more crucial training. They had other talents for the Red Room to exploit, because of course, if any of them were to become the Widow, they'd need a cover story, an identity, and a lie to tell while they lived between missions. Dancing was to be Natalia's lie.

But she loved it. She really, truly did and she was filled with a passion for it. She wanted to do it and she wanted to do it well. In fact, sometimes she worried that she might even want this more than she wanted the Widow, but she never said that. It scared her a little, she thought, because the ballet, it was a lie. It was a cover. The Black Widow was supposed to be the truth and so then, shouldn't she want that more?

Natalia was fifteen when she mentioned it out loud for the first time. She was finishing a dress rehearsal and watching the curtain close in front of her as she curtsied, sweat starting to bead on her skin from the effort, and grinning widely, even though her instructor had told her time and time again to stop smiling so much while she danced. She heard in the audience one pair of hands begin to clap loudly and someone call 'Brava! Brava!'. She smoothed stray hair back from her face and dashed out from behind the curtain and into the audience where the lights were turning back on and Ivan Petrovitch waited alone in the front row.

"Beautiful, little one!" He called to her as she ran up to him, still grinning. "Just beautiful! My Natty is so talented!" Tickled, Natalia stopped in front of him and curtsied one more time.

"You like it?" She asked and he began to clap more.

"I loved it!" He said. "Your show tonight will be spectacular!"

Natalia could have said that Ivan was her father, except for the fact that it wasn't entirely true. He and the Red Room had raised her and he was certainly a father figure to her, but he never called himself as much. He had never asked Natalia to call him father, and so she never had, but every time she saw him, she wished she could. She loved him that much.

"Come now," Ivan continued. "Get dressed and take your things and I'll take you back home." Natalia hurried back to him minutes later with her bag slung over her shoulder and her street clothes on and she followed him back out onto the street to walk back where she lived with the other girls in a compound. She was quiet on the walk back as she considered ballet and finally, she got up the courage to say something to Ivan about it. She looked up at him, trying to think of how to phrase the way she felt and Ivan looked down at her and smiled.

"What are you thinking, little one?" He asked. Natalia made a face.

"How much dancing will I be able to do?" She asked. "When I'm the Black Widow." Ivan looked forward and shrugged.

"Well, it all depends on how often Russia needs you," he said. "I'm sure you'll be able to perform frequently, though."

Unfortunately, this wasn't enough for Natalia. She frowned at the ground and Ivan noticed.

"Perk up, child," he told her gently. "You will dance enough to make you happy, I'm sure. And besides, you know that ballerinas are not what Russia needs. You aren't truly training to be a ballerina."

"There are plenty of other girls," Natalia replied. "Russia can need them."

"Natalia," Ivan said sternly and she glanced up at him. "Those skills you have, the ones that _aren't _about spinning on your toes. Those are important."

"I like spinning on my toes," Natalia replied spitefully and Ivan stopped. Natalia, confused, halted as well and looked up at him, her ballet bag still hanging over her shoulder and stray hairs falling into her face. Ivan's grey eyebrows pushed together and his mouth became a line, the way he did when he thought Natalia was being frustrating. "What?" She demanded. "I'm allowed to like things, you know."

"But dancing is not important, Natalia," Ivan said sternly. "You can help people as the Black Widow, child. Those skills will make you mean something. No one _needs_ a ballerina. You want to be needed, don't you?" This was not the first time Natalia had heard these words.

"Yeah," she muttered defeatedly and glowered at the ground. Ivan let out a breath and started to walk again and Natalia hurried to keep up.

"You must be what people need you to be," he told her in a contemplative voice as he walked. "That's how you get along in life. It's what everyone does, and especially a little girl who wants to be the Black Widow when she gets older."

"What about being happy?" Natalia asked and Ivan looked over at her, his hands in his pockets and his thin grey hair hanging into his eyes.

"That _will_ make you happy," he said. "When you mean something." He looked forward and sighed wearily. "The Black Widow will be a woman who will mean something to a lot of people. She'll be a woman who does important things." He looked down at her. Natalia had been staring up at him. He smiled a little. "You have the widest eyes, little one," he commented quietly. "You take in so much." Natalia just shrugged and Ivan laughed and looked forward again.

After a while, he spoke once more.

"Mean something, Natty," he said pleadingly. "Be important. Do the important things."

"Okay," Natalia said back quietly. She focused on the ground and tightened her grasp on the drawstrings of the bag over her shoulders.

"Ballet is not who you are," Ivan told her finally. "Never forget that. You are the Black Widow and this," he gestured to her bag and her shoulders deflated a little. "As beautiful as it is, it's just that. Pretty and meaningless. Ornament and a lie and you're more than that."

"Okay," Natalia said again, mostly because at this point, she just wanted Ivan to stop. She could feel her heart breaking.

They reached the compound and Natalia said goodbye to Ivan and she took her ballet things inside and pushed them under her bed and tried to forget about how excited she'd been for her concert in a few hours.

Years later, she sat crosslegged in Clint Barton's kitchen in the middle of the night, pressing her back up against the wall and holding a blanket tightly around her shoulders and trying with everything she had to stop crying. A few minutes later, Clint would wake up and come out and he would embrace her and maybe kiss her head and promise to make her some combination of the comfort foods he stocked his kitchen with. She would consider telling him that Ivan Petrovitch had broken her heart and that dreams of dancing had brought her to tears, but she would decide against it in the end.

After all, the dancing was a lie and like Ivan had told her to do, she'd never forgotten that.


	34. 34 hotel room

34 [hotel room]

That night, Natasha fell into bed with James and let herself be wrapped up in him. She loved his warmth and how comforting his presence was, especially now when she felt so… So indescribably terrible. She didn't often dwell on her past because she hated it, but she was beginning to now and it was making her feel downright crummy. Well, to be honest, she'd been feeling pretty awful for the past few days. This wasn't new.

And so she turned off all the lights and grabbed James and begged him to cuddle her. He didn't need much coaxing and he took her face and kissed her and turned off the lamp behind them and they were drowned in darkness.

They lay together in the dark for a long time and Natasha wasn't even trying to sleep, not yet. She was just enjoying the warmth and the comfort and the safety of James' body up against hers when he spoke.

"Hey Natalia," James whispered quietly after a while and Natasha shifted and hummed. Their fingers were interlocked in front of her and she rubbed his hand gently.

"Mhmm?" She said.

"Do you like flowers?" He asked and Natasha smiled a little, amused. Then, she remembered. It was February-Valentine's Day. She cursed in her head.

"No," she said.

"Oh," James replied quietly. And then, "How about those little heart-shaped chocolates, with the red boxes?"

"Cliche," Natasha said and opened her eyes and pulled her other hand out from under her to place on top of his, rubbing her thumb back and forth across the back of his hand so his hand was sandwiched between both of hers. It was the flesh one, he could feel it, and she considered kissing his fingers. After all, she wasn't mad, about the Valentines thing. She just dreaded it.

"Romantic comedies?" James said and Natasha nearly snorted as she tried to hold in her laughter. He was too cute.

"They're rarely funny," she said and James gave another small, disappointed, "Oh."

"James," Natasha said, turning around just a little so she could see his face as he propped himself up behind her. She smirked at him playfully. "Do _you_ like romantic comedies?" James looked away then and Natasha laughed out loud and she relished the warm feeling inside her that swelled as she adored her boyfriend.

It may have been simple, but this was probably the best night Natasha had had in the past few days. No tension and no stress and no Belova and no nothing. Just James and silly romance. She liked that.

"I haven't seen any of the modern ones, but…," James answered her, embarrassed, and Natasha reached up to draw a finger across his jaw line and bring his face back to her so she could reach up and kiss his mouth.

"I'd watch them for you," she said sweetly. "But _only_ for you." James smiled back at her, beamed, really, and Natasha relaxed back down into his arms, but she didn't turn this time because she was content laying there, looking up at his face, so close she could feel his heart beating.

"Do you want to do anything for-" James said and Natasha stopped him then.

"No," she said. "No, I… I don't like Valentine's Day," she admitted and James looked concerned.

"Why?" He said and she shrugged as best as she could snuggled up tightly against his chest.

"It's cheesy," she said. "Everyone thinks it's this big romantic thing, but what's so great about it anyway?" James tried not to look disappointed, but Natasha recognized the pout in his mouth and smiled a little. "Come on," she said. "I don't need some special once-a-year day to tell you I love you. Right?" James nodded begrudgingly and Natasha fought the urge to lean up and kiss him again. "I love you," she said reassuringly. "I love you today. I love you tomorrow. I love you yesterday."

"I love you, too," James said in a quiet, thoughtful way, and Natasha smiled at him and began to get comfortable again, turning and yawning and closing her eyes.

"We've both been up too long," she said and she felt him behind her begin to sink back down to the mattress and relax. "Try to sleep."

"Okay," James said and Natasha closed her eyes and matched the rhythm of her breathing to his.

And she clung to this, this sudden and unexpected simple happiness. It had become rare.


	35. 35 hotel bed

_Extra chapter today because of something that happened on Wattpad. :) -BB_

35 [hotel bed]

She probably could have asked questions.

At least a few.

To know what she was doing, who she was working for, what was happening.

But she rarely did.

She found

it easier

to pull the trigger

when she didn't truly know who stood at the other end.

The Winter Soldier stood behind her as she polished off her rifle and watched her silently as she turned around and aimed. They were close enough to hear the body hit the ground.

"Why did you do that," the Winter Soldier asked quietly. Her fingers reached up to touch his face and he pulled away.

"They told me to," she replied and watched his eyes refocus on the body behind her. He pressed his mouth together.

"I'll miss you," he whispered and, confused, she turned around and followed his gaze to see the body across the street from them had long red hair and gold weapons strapped to her wrists and she felt her stomach drop out from underneath her.

After all.

She was in the habit of not asking who it really was that she killed on every Red Room mission.

Natasha bolted up, her hands on her face and her hair, her eyes wide and her heart racing. It was dark suddenly, she couldn't breathe.

"Oooh, no," she gasped. "No. No no no. Stop, get it together, stop it." Images assaulted her mind; thoughts of murder FLASH thoughts of blood FLASH thoughts of long, thin syringes and thick, dull scissors and she sucked in a breath. "Ooh," she said and she squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands into fists against her cheeks. She was sweating.

"Natalia?" She heard. The bed creaked and she felt cool metal on her hot skin, hands on her shoulders. "Natalia, what's wrong?"

"James, I-" she said and FLASH thoughts of wiping guts off of knives FLASH thoughts of- "Aah, J-James!"

Before she knew it, she had been grabbed and moved and she could feel him up against her, arms tight around her shoulders, sitting in his lap, her face in the crook of his neck.

FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH

She squeezed her hands harder until she almost thought her nails had broken skin and she pressed her face into his skin and whimpered. She felt him rocking her back and forth.

"Hey, shh, hey," she heard. FLASH thoughts of FLASH thoughts "Shhshsh, listen to me, okay? Concentrate on my voice. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, it wasn't real-" FLASH FLASH FLASH "You're gonna be fine, I'm here, listen to-" FLASH FLASH "Shhhh Nat, Natalia, come on, breathe-" FLASH "and out, in and out, come on."

Concentrate on his voice. Make the rest of it go away, _force it_ to leave you, make it go away.

For a second, just a second, she had the impression, the sudden FLASH of being in Clint Barton's arms this way, and of panicking until she couldn't even see straight and for that second, she wasn't entirely sure where she was.

After a while, Natasha calmed down, focusing in on the way James' voice sounded in the air and felt rumbling next to her face, on the way his arms around her were so tight that he steadied her shaking all by himself, on the way it was grounding and real and the flashes began to subside. Then, she could concentrate on one time and one place.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his neck and breathed him in and breathed him out like oxygen. She wrapped her arms around his back and clung to him. His hand moved up and down on her back comfortingly.

"Hey," he said and he leaned his cheek on the top of her hair. "Shhhh."

"Ni-Nightmares," Natasha whispered.

"I know," James said. Then, "You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head.

A few silent minutes later, she pulled herself away from him a little and scooted back over to where she'd been sleeping not far from him on the mattress. Her pillow was wet with sweat and her sheets were cold with it. She grit her teeth and flipped the pillow over. At least James hadn't said anything about it.

"We can stay up, if you want to," he told her and she shook her head again.

"No…," she said.

"You can go back to sleep?" He asked incredulously. "After… That?" Again, she grit her teeth, grinding her jaw together.

"I just… I just don't wanna…," she tried and then stopped. "Yes," she finally settled on. "Yes."

James hesitated and then she watched him lower himself back down slowly onto the mattress next to her.

"Alright," he said, but then he continued. "Don't worry about it now, but when you're ready, at least… I think you should talk about it." Natasha frowned deeply.

"No," she said.

"Why?" James asked. "It'll make you feel better. Let me help you carry this burden."

"I can do it on my own," Natasha said and she took in a breath and let it out and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't see what James' reaction to it had been.

"But you don't have to," he pleaded. "You don't have to suffer like this."

"I don't want to tell you," she found herself saying too fast.

"Aren't there people who deserve to know things about you, Talia?" He said and her eyes opened and suddenly, she was glaring. She sat up again and James looked up at her, his face hidden in her shadow, and slowly began to sit up again.

"I don't _owe you_ my truth, James," she said angrily.

"Don't you? I gave you mine," he said innocently.

"I never promised you truth. This wasn't a trade," she shot back. It took James a second to pull his thoughts together to reply. He breathed loudly and when he spoke again, he sounded hurt.

"Seems to me, it's only people you don't want to be close to you that you don't share things with. Seems to me that keeping things from people is the same as cutting them out. So sure, you don't _owe me_ anything. But there are people who deserve the truth and there are people who don't and I guess I thought I'd earned it. Thought I'd meant that much to you."

"Don't think you're entitled to anything!" Natasha exclaimed.

"Please, Nat, that's not what I'm saying!" James cried.

"That's exactly what you're saying!" Natasha replied hotly. She knew she shouldn't be this angry. She shouldn't be raising her voice, shouldn't be accusing him because she knew it was wrong. But she found herself overwhelmed by fear. "You've been a good boyfriend, so you want something in return!"

"Relationships are give and take, Natalia," James replied incredulously. "All I want to know is that I have your trust!"

"I trust you," Natasha replied quietly, her tone defensive.

"Not completely, you don't," James accused her. She heard his voice and watched his face become hard. "Cause I guess that's what this is, huh? It's a trust thing."

"James…," she melted. She wished she knew what to say, but, well… She supposed he wasn't wrong.

"Why don't you trust me? With all of you?" James begged and Natasha felt again anger well in her.

"You will never have all of me," she heard herself say spitefully. James swallowed audibly and she tried to see in the dim light the features of his face change. She couldn't be sure what she saw and she was suddenly afraid down to her core that he'd leave her. But she didn't know what else to do.

After a while, he spoke again in a wounded whisper. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"I… I didn't mean…," Natasha backpedaled weakly. Don't leave me. Don't leave me.

"No, I understand. Really," he said, even though it was clear he didn't. She watched him turn and flop back down top the mattress and stare up. His chest deflated as he let out a breath. "But you have all of me, Nat. Everything. Every secret, every thought. Every terrible thing, every good thing. Me; I'm all yours. I trust you."

"You shouldn't," she whispered, just barely under her breath and James didn't answer. "I'm sorry," she tried again and squeezed her eyes shut. "That I can't trust you."

"I'm sorry too," he replied and he pushed himself up again and she felt his forehead pressed gently against hers, his soft breath on her lips, and his warm hand on the back of her neck. He was in pain. She shuddered. He was on the other end of the barrel of her gun these days. "I love you," he said, as though he were resignedly reminding her.

"I love you, too," she whispered.


	36. 36 hotel room

36 [hotel room]

In the morning, Natalia and Bucky had a to-do list a mile long. He woke up before her and he let her rest as he stood out of bed.

The light was bright and he stopped for a minute and looked at her and felt almost as though he might cry, the heartbreak in him was so strong. Their conversation and the events of the night had come rushing back to him in an instant and he felt almost attacked by them, and hateful towards the memory.

She didn't trust him.

He felt in him a crippling pain at these words, like breath knocked out of him, and he had to sit down and suck in air and tell himself to keep moving.

Sometimes, pain is like that. Sometimes, people let you down and it hurts so much you don't think you can go on, don't think you can breathe. This time, Bucky ground his teeth together and forced himself to.

He pulled himself up and walked over and sat in the desk on the other side of the room. He pulled out his phone and dialed SHIELD.

It took him a while to get through things like protocols and people asking who he was and how he had this number and he had to repeat himself a dozen times, saying, "This is James Barnes, I've worked with SHIELD in the past, please, just let me talk." Until finally, several times, he'd be forced to say, "Captain America! Yes! Captain America! Look him up! My name is right next to his! _Please_, if at least for _his sake_, let me through to Fury!"

It had been a long time since he'd spoken to Nick Fury directly on the phone, and this time, he didn't even get a chance to. Instead, he was put through to some higher ups and he leaned over the desk and rubbed his temple.

"Let me get this straight, Hydra's Winter Soldier is calling us?" Someone on the other end asked sarcastically and Bucky felt emotion (mostly rage? mostly fear?) respond.

"I'm not Hydra's anything," he hissed and then had to stop and force himself to take a breath. "Don't… Look, just, don't call me that. My name is Bucky, I was a Howling Commando, okay?"

"What do you need, Barnes?" Another voice said.

"I've got a name for you to put on your lists," Bucky replied. "This is a high-level Watch List candidate, you hear me?"

"I think _we'll _decide who's high-level and who's not, Mr. Barnes," someone else said. "What's the name."

"Yelena Belova," Bucky said, and found himself a little embarrassed that he'd pronounced it with a bit of a Russian accent. He and Natalia had been speaking too much Russian to each other, he groaned to himself in his head. And sometimes, he knew, caught up in the pace of communicating, he still didn't notice the switch. "She's Red Room, and Russian. A threat to the Black Widow."

"How do you know this?" they asked.

"Because Agent Romanoff is my girlfriend," Bucky replied angrily. "And we've seen attacks by her recently. We have intel."

"Why isn't Agent Romanoff calling this in?" they asked.

"Look, I just need you to track her for us, okay?" Bucky said frustratedly. "That's all I need from you."

After a few more minutes of fighting, Natalia had roused herself and was sitting up and yawning. She stood and shivered and wrapped a sheet around her shoulders and approached Bucky. He finally gave in and groaned and handed her the phone. He listened to her identify herself and ask for the name on the Watch List and then she hung up and set the phone down.

"I hate SHIELD," Bucky complained as Nataliaa walked over to the bag of their new clothes on the ground and began to change.

"They'd listen to you if you worked for them," she replied casually.

"Never gonna happen," he replied. "I'll do anything else. I'll knit sweaters for a living. I'll open up a bakery. I'll...," he shrugged. "I dunno, something. Just no SHIELD and mission work." Natalia looked at him over her shoulder as she pulled a shirt on.

"Sure," she said back and her voice was decorated with her smile. "Make sure to knit me a sweater first though, alright?"

"That'll be twenty bucks," he teased back and she rolled her eyes.

"Twenty dollars?" She asked. "You never really did get a hang of the currency inflation thing, did you?"

"What?" He cried. "Twenty bucks can get you a meal and that's all I need to know." He heard her laugh.

"Uh-huh," she replied. "Well, get dressed and ready your twenties. We're going to breakfast."

Bucky found he couldn't forget what had been said last night, even while they teased each other. He looked at her, standing in a mirror and frowning at herself as she raked her fingers through her short hair, and thought of her panicking in the dark until he grabbed her up and tried as hard as he could to save her. He thought of the way she'd said to him so bitingly, "You will never have all of me."

He thought of Valentines Day and swallowed and thought that maybe this hadn't been a good idea.

There was a little pastry shop across the road that Bucky had thought looked good and they went there now, ordering bagels and danishes and sitting down at the little tables in the shop.

"Now you can do less work," Bucky pointed out quietly as they sat. "SHIELD will do the tracking, they might even send us some back-up. All we have to do now is actually physically fight her." Nataliaa sipped a coffee and nodded slowly.

"I guess that's true," she admitted.

"More time left over for vacationing?" Bucky prodded and she looked up at him and cracked a small smile. He leaned over the table to get near to her and said, "I remember being promised an ocean. And fancy tacos." Natalia laughed and set her coffee down.

"Alright, alright," she said and when she looked up and smiled at him, her green eyes sparkled. "A little bit of time to relax. And then we take what info SHIELD gives us and we hunt her down and end this." Bucky smiled at her widely until she looked away, rolling her eyes and grinning, and he took one her hands and kissed the back of it gently.

"Where should we start?" He asked her and she took her hand back from him and started to clean up the table.

"Maybe by paying and leaving," she teased and he followed her up to the counter to ask for the receipt and leaned up against the wall as she signed it.

He waited for a minute before he realized they'd been there an awkward and silently long time and he glanced over at her to see her staring down at her own name on the paper, her eyebrows furrowed. Her pen moved over the N again and again and again and the cashier behind the counter looked confused. Bucky stepped forward and put his hand on her waist.

"Is something wrong?" He asked her quietly in her ear and she jumped a little and dropped the pen. She looked over at him.

"No," she said. He looked down at the receipt. The letters in her name had been thickened and darkened by the times she'd run the pen over them again and again as they stood there.

"Are you sure?" He said. "You, um… Really made your name legible, there." Natalia looked down at the receipt and swallowed and shoved it towards the cashier.

"It's nothing," she said, slipping her hand behind him and wrapping her arm around his waist as well. Her other hand clipped her purse closed. "Let's go."

Bucky didn't answer, just steered her gently towards the door and tried to stifle his concern.

_Hey! I'm just popping in to alert everyone that I've been able to get an AO3 account! I'm super excited about this and I've started to upload my content there. :) You should check it out! -BlitheBells_


	37. 37 Houston

They spent the rest of the day trying desperately to forget their problems, which wasn't entirely easy at first. Houston was hot for February and Natasha found herself almost, keyword _almost_, glad that her hair was so short. They explored the city until they were both exhausted and James took his every opportunity to kiss her and for a second, in his arms, she could nearly forget who she was and what her life had become. She could almost forget that they weren't two ordinary lovers on an ordinary vacation. She could pretend. But as good a liar as she was, she wasn't skilled enough to lie to herself for long.

They did everything they could think to do. Museums for Natasha and walks by piers for James. A corner taco restaurant for them both. A cheap bus tour. Selfies in front of landmarks.

And oh, how James' face lit up. Natasha was terribly distracted by him and found it more satisfying to watch James marvel at the city around them instead of watch the city itself. He caught her doing this a few times and gave her a smart grin.

"And if you look to your left, you'll see your boyfriend," James teased her, mimicking the tour guide's voice quietly. Natasha rolled her eyes and she didn't respond because all she could think was, '_you_ sparkle more than the city itself.'

"If I ever lost you," she finally said after a while, musing solemnly, and James looked back over. They were sitting on the tour bus, on the top section where the wind blew both of their hair in their eyes and Natasha had to tuck strands behind her ear for the millionth time. She didn't finish her sentence.

A gloved hand wrapped around hers gently.

"You won't," he said. "I promise."

She looked down at their hands and then back up at his face, where the wind plastered too-long brown hair across his forehead. "The nicest restaurant in DC," she whispered over the scream of the wind and the growl of the road. "Take me out to dinner. When this is all over."

She studied James' face for his reaction. He recognized the phrase, the promise, and his smile fell, thinking about it. He opened his mouth and then closed it and then opened it again. He tried to smile at her.

"Kiss you all night," he finished finally and she stared at him. Then, "what are you thinking about?" He asked.

"You," she said quietly.

Later that evening, after it got dark and they had finished a dinner of Texmex on the pier, Natasha and James found themselves at the nearest nightclub they could find.

James had been a little nervous about the idea. After all, he'd said, he hadn't been to a place like this since before the war, and they were bound to be different in the twenty-first century, but Natasha wanted to dance and he gave in.

It may be worth mentioning that they ran into some trouble trying to get in as they realized James had no ID whatsoever, but given that he had the Black Widow with him, he was snuck inside relatively quickly.

Once they got in the club and adjusted to the screaming stimulation of the experience, the people and the sounds and the lights, and James was no longer in danger of being thrown out, Natasha ran out to dance.

She was stunning on the dance floor and she knew she was. She could feel the music pounding in her chest, like the bass line had replaced her heartbeat and thinking about it too hard made tears spring to her eyes and she stopped and blinked them away, surprised at the well of emotion inside her. What hurt her more, she wondered? The fact that she loved how dancing replaced her heart? Or simply the dancing itself?

Natasha shoved the feeling away. She was an expert at shoving it away and she became all swaying hips and wide smiles and ba-thrump ba-thrump ba-thrump bass line.

It was dark and strobe lights flashed and it was so loud that she could only see James' lips moving and she couldn't hear his voice at all. She laughed and put his hands on her hips and pressed herself against him, away from the people behind her and around her, and slung her arms around her shoulders. If they couldn't talk, at least they could dance, and that was perfectly fine with her.


	38. 38 Houston

38 [Houston]

They stumbled back to their hotel late in the morning and fell into bed together exhaustedly.

Natasha checked her phone before the fell asleep. No new updates from SHIELD yet.

In the morning, they woke slowly and went out to buy coffees and breakfast, and at new restaurant this time, and that's when Natasha realized that it was the fourteenth. She looked up at James from over the top of her menu and eyed him suspiciously. He was staring down at his own menu and stirring his coffee with one gloved hand distractedly. He looked innocent. Almost too innocent. She squinted her eyes at him and remembered what he had asked her those few nights ago. Romantic comedies? Flowers? She almost scoffed. It was frivolous romance, and while sometimes she could relax enough to enjoy it with James, it wasn't really something she indulged in. The Black Widow was practical. She was stoic. She didn't toy with things other people did, like chocolates in heart boxes or Hallmark cards.

James picked up his coffee and sipped from it and set it back down. He turned the page of his menu and brushed his hair out of his eyes. She squinted at him again. What are you planning, she thought. Then, James' eyes flickered upwards and caught hers and he smiled that stupid, charming smile.

"Yes?" He said and took another sip from his cup. "Is the menu written on my forehead?" She laughed and rolled her eyes and set her menu down.

"I'll just get eggs or something," she said dismissively.

"Sounds like a good choice," James replied and began to look back down, but she leaned across the table at him and caught his attention again. He looked at her expectantly. Natasha glanced down again and took his hand before he could set it back down and just held it in hers and studied the lines in the black leather of his glove. If they hadn't been in public and it wouldn't have made him uncomfortable, she would have taken it off.

Finally, she looked back up and she gave him a coy half-smile.

"Today is Valentines Day," she said and she watched his eyes. Yes, there was something there. Definitely something. In the way his breath caught just barely, and the way the muscles around his mouth tensed for just a second. She shifted in her seat and almost laughed.

Gotcha!

"You're becoming a better liar," she said to him before he could really respond. "But not good enough. What are you planning, Barnes? I know you've got something up your sleeve."

"Huh? Me?" James said innocently. "No, never."

"Do you think I was born yesterday?" She asked, only half teasingly. "I told you I don't want to do anything."

"I don't have anything planned!" James said defensively. "I swear!" She looked into his eyes. This… Almost looked like the truth. Then what had she seen earlier? "I haven't bought you a single thing, I promise, and I feel terrible about it."

"Hmm," Natasha said suspiciously and leaned back. "Alright. Fine." She released his hand gently and he took it back.

"But, uh," James added sheepishly. "I was thinking of something." Natasha raised an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, he continued. "Nothing big! Nothing even Valentines Day-ish, just, I thought we might go to the beach today! While we're by the Gulf of Mexico, since there's no more Belova news for now. We could find a spot, take a picnic, watch the ocean. Doesn't that sound relaxing?"

"I suppose," Natasha said. "That does sound like fun." She sighed and then tried to smile at him. Maybe she was being too paranoid. "Alright, let's pack a picnic and go."

They found a deli and ordered sandwiches in a to-go box and James bought bottles of soda to throw in for their lunch. Then, they found cheap swimsuits and a beach towel at one of those beachside stores at the Gulf and by eleven, they were ready. James pulled a white tourist t-shirt over the scars on his chest and suggested to Natasha awkwardly that they find a section of the beach with less people to stare at him and his arm.

Natasha watched James take inventory of the people there as they got out onto the beach, flip-flops slapping the sand, the sun rising in the sky. With Belova behind them, she often did the same.

She looked out at the beach. One small family a few yards away. A pair of teenage girls by the ocean, making a sand castle and setting up an umbrella. A bored looking lifeguard at the top of a tower. And not a one of them even looked over. No staring people.

Natasha hooked her arm through James'. The left one, in fact, because that's the side she happened to be on, and she shivered when her skin met the cold metal. It was the wind, she knew, because he was usually warm even into the tips of his prosthetic fingers, but she tried not to let him know and drew herself closer to him.

"Over there," she pointed to the left. "There's no one there. We can keep going until they can't even see us and then," she turned to him and tugged playfully at his collar, grinning up at him. "You ought to take this thing off." He looked down at her and kissed her nose, making her laugh.

"Whatever you say," he said and stumbled after her as she began to drag him in the direction she had been pointing.

They walked a ways on the white sand, arm in arm, and James stared out at the ocean next to them. Every so often, he'd stop and kneel down and dig through the sand with his fingers until he found whatever seashell had caught his eye and he'd show her and drop it into his pocket with the rest of his small, growing collection proudly.

"You could bottle this sand," he mentioned once as they walked, kicking it up with his feet. "It's so white."

"Or you could put a handful of that into your pocket, too," Natasha teased him and he grinned and she watched his eyes flicker upwards at the sky.

"I wanna keep it all," he admitted. "Moments like this. Don't ever wanna go back, you know?"

Natasha watched her feet, making prints in that white sand as she leaned in close to James. They could hear the water crashing, birds calling and the sound of people in the distance. The wind off the water was chilly and James' metal arm was cold, but with her head on his shoulder, she could feel his heat. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring it all.

"Yeah," she answered James. "I know."

After a while, Natasha deemed them far enough away. People on either side of them were small enough to only be blurs and she took their bag from James and started laying out the beach towel on the sand and setting their bag down. She felt his hands on her waist and she whirled around, only to meet his mouth with hers. She laughed a little delightedly and slapped at him, teasingly pulling away.

"I wasn't done!" she exclaimed and he grinned and pulled her closer again.

"Since when have towels been the number one priority?" He questioned and pressed his mouth to hers again and this time, she let him, slipping her hands under his shirt and running her fingers slowly up his chest until he had to pull away for a second to finish pulling the shirt up and over his head. Then, he was back in her arms and kissing her again and again and again.

"Stay with me," Natasha said breathlessly, as she found she often did.

"Forever," James replied and he grinned at her and she wrapped her arm around his neck and dragged him down with her to their knees on the sand, pressing her lips to his, twisting his hair in her fingers. She could feel his hands on her back, on her neck, on her thighs, and she smiled.

"I love you," she told him and let him kiss her face and her neck.

"Then marry me," James said in a breath, caught up in pressing kisses to her face. "Marry me, Natalia." Natasha laughed because she didn't know what else to do, feeling a sudden upset creep in on her, a frightened confusion. Surely he didn't mean it.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes," she murmured back and tried to smile, because of course he wasn't serious. "But I can't marry you." With a suddenness, James stopped and she felt him become stiff and he pulled away from her kissing and straightened up and looked down at her. She stared up at him and felt her stomach drop. Suddenly, everything seemed different and the lighthearted smile that had been on her face fell. Even the very air felt tight with emotion.

Oh, no, she thought.

"But," James said and his expression was one of heartbreak, so much that Natasha almost wished she could take back her words. "Why?" She looked up at him, her arms around his neck, biting her lip. She had to defuse this, she had to… She had to fix it.

But how could she explain herself?

"I'm the Black Widow, James," she said quietly. "The Black Widow can't marry."

"That's ridiculous," James replied. His eyes studied hers and she stared back, desperate for him to understand. "You're more than that, you're Natalia. The Black Widow is just a part of you."

"I can't have a life," she said back. She studied his face, watched it fall. It pained her, to hurt him, but it just couldn't be. "And you're wrong, it's not just a part of me, I am the Black Widow, James. You may not be the Winter Soldier, but I am the Black Widow and the Black Widow doesn't," Natasha pressed her mouth together. "She doesn't get married. She doesn't buy a house and marry a boy and have children."

"Then forget all that," James pleaded. "Have it, don't have it, I don't care. But what about me, what about us?"

"We can still be us, James," Natasha said.

"Then what's so different?" James argued. "If we're still us, then won't we still be us if we're married?"

"No, it is different," Natasha said. Her voice began to grow hard, she could hear the determination there and wished she could say these things to him a little gentler. She just didn't know how. "It is and it's not something I can have."

"Why?" James demanded.

"Because I'm the Black Widow!" Natasha cried. "I am not the kind of person you marry!"

"Then by that argument, neither am I," James said.

"Great!" Natasha shot back. "Then we won't get married."

"Nat," James said pleadingly, but Natasha was already upset and she was moving away from him, pulling herself back up to her feet, dusting sand off her skin, trying to avoid his eyes.

"No!" She said. "No. We're not getting married." She turned away from him and looked out at the tide going in and out and in and out. She folded her arms. There was a long silence. She could hear behind her James shuffle to his feet.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he said quietly and Natasha pressed her mouth together firmly and stared harder at the water. She rubbed her forehead with one hand.

"I know," she replied and she didn't look back at him.


	39. 39 a SHIELD base in New York

39 [a SHIELD base in New York]

When Natalia first got out of Mother Russia's chokehold, she lived with Clint Barton. SHIELD wanted her, they wanted to lock her up and interrogate her and make certain for themselves, on paper, that she wasn't unstable or here for malicious reasons, but they only had her for a few days before Barton put his foot down and got her back. She remembered seeing his face at her door, with no handcuffs or weapons, just a lopsided smile and open arms, and she remembered the emotions that had flooded her. She wasn't entirely relieved. She didn't have room for relief, not in her conflicted heart. Most of what she felt was suspicion and fear. So much fear.

But she was glad to be out of the prison that SHIELD had become and she stood and picked up her bag and followed Clint down the hall and out of the door, finally free.

"No more interrogations," Clint was saying as he opened the car door for her. "No more bein' treated like a criminal." She looked at him and took a seat in the car. He had dark circles under his eyes, and a large bruise on his forehead.

"What happened?" She asked.

"What?" He said, as though he was confused, and then she watched it register in his eyes. "Oh! You mean, uh-" He looked up as though he could see his own forehead. "Got into a scrap with some guys. It's nothin'."

"Which guys?" She asked. He gave her that lopsided smile again.

"SHIELD guys," he said, almost as though he was proud of it, as though he expected her to laugh. "See? We both beat up SHIELD agents every so often."

Natalia frowned and looked out the window.

Clint cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So, uh, I was thinking you'd stay with me?" He said. "Got a room set up and everything. Just until you're more comfortable here." She looked back over at him suspiciously and eyed him.

"Really?" She said. He grinned at her.

"Really, Miss Romanova" he said. "Or, uh, Black Widow. Or whatever you like to be called."

Natalia looked at him.

"Call me Natasha," she said. Clint frowned.

"But, uh, I thought your name was different," he said. "Russian." She looked down then, turned her hands up and studied the lines in her palms. She'd become a million different people before. She could become different again. The only thing that stayed the same was her fingerprints. "Natalia," Clint said, and the name was almost coarse in his American mouth. She looked up at Clint and turned her hands over to rub them on her pants.

"There never really was a Natalia," she told him. "Names don't matter."

"Geez, you think?" Clint said and he reached up and rubbed the back of his head. His eyes looked concerned.

"I do," she said and she looked back down again, avoiding those concerned eyes. "It doesn't matter what you call me."

The thing about Natalia, or Natasha, or whoever she was, was that there was nothing on the inside of her. Nothing to put a name to. All she had were fingerprints and a million different false identities to put on when she needed them. So she didn't need a name, not like Clint seemed to think.

After all, if there was something there, she wouldn't be able to be the Black Widow. The Widow needed to sacrifice everything to be what her people needed her to be, what her mission called for her to be. She needed to go unseen, in every sense of the word. Because she was unseen not just physically, but deeper, where everything that makes a person who they are goes unseen as well. And that worked out well for Natasha, she thought, because there wasn't much inside to see anyway.

"Well, uh, whatever you want, Natasha," Clint said.

"If names mattered," Natalia continued thoughtfully. "Then you wouldn't be able to take them off and put them back on again and again so meaninglessly. Right?" She hadn't spoken much to Clint before this. But suddenly, this seemed like an important topic of conversation. Suddenly, it didn't even matter who, but _someone_ had to hear. Someone had to see her.

"I dunno," Clint said. He shifted in his seat. "I've never really thought much about it."

"I guess I haven't either," Natasha replied. She looked over at Clint, with those bruises on his face, those dark circles under his eyes, that messy blonde hair. She decided to smile at him. "When I come to a verdict about it, I'll let you know," she said and Clint grinned.

"Gotcha," he said.


	40. 40 the Gulf beach

40 [the Gulf beach]

Natasha sat cross-legged on the sand a few feet away and her food remained untouched. She was drawing her name in the sand, over and over like she had in the restaurant, and staring at it. It looked wrong.

Natasha Romanoff

Romanoff

Natasha

Alianovna

Natasha

Natasha

Natasha

She made a face and reached out and rubbed sand back over her words until they were gone and then she bored a hole into the ground with her finger, just because she didn't know what else to do. Just because she needed something to look at while she told herself not to cry.

A few minutes later, James joined her, sitting down next to her slowly. She looked over at him. He was holding his prosthetic hand up to his face and using his fingernails to dig sand and grit out of the seams. He noticed her watching and held his hand in front of her. He rolled his fingers. She could hear a grinding sound and he let out a frustrated breath.

"Probably needs water," he muttered. "And a toothpick or something to clean it all out." He took his hand back and kept working at it. She looked up at his face. His eyes were red.

She scooted closer to him wordlessly and rested her head on his shoulder.

He spoke again after a while.

"I, uh," he said and looked up at the sky. "I didn't mean to, um, say it like that. See, I, uh, I'd wanted to… Mention it. I just… I wanted to discuss it with you. But I got… Caught up, I guess. In you. And, um…" He looked back down and dropped his hands onto his knees. She felt him shrug a little gently. "Words never really seem to work like I want them to. And especially not today. So, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, James," Natasha replied. "I'm sorry, too."

"Forget I said anything," he whispered back.

"I think I'd suspected…," Natasha said and she looked up at him and his red eyes. She felt her voice become thick. "That that was something you wanted. But I never really admitted it to myself. I'm good at that, you know. Not admitting things to myself. I really am a stellar liar."

"The best," James replied quietly and she felt her heart break. Then, "the food's still there, if you're hungry."

"I'm not," she said.

"Me either," he said. And they sat there again for another long, silent while and all she could hear was the sound of the ocean and people in the distance, all leading perfectly normal, happy lives with their perfectly normal, happy boyfriends and they didn't have to be afraid of normal, happy things because they weren't the Black Widow.

For the first time in several years, she heard Ivan Petrovich's voice in her head, telling her who she was and what she wanted, pleading with her to do the important things. The things no one wanted to do, but _she_ had to. The things that would make everyone happy but her.

"I just don't understand," James said finally. Natasha looked back down at the sand and slowly drew her name.

Natasha Alia-

"You aren't _just_ the Black Widow," he said weakly.

"James," she said quietly, looking up. "How long did it take you to get used to your name?" To feel comfortable inside it's words, to become at home in the sounds. To accept it. He looked down.

"Weeks," he told her quietly. "No one had ever given me a name before. Not that I remembered, anyway. And I heard it a few times out of Steve's mouth and it felt… Uncomfortable. Didn't fit. Sounded like a different guy. Took me a long time before I could refer to myself as 'Bucky'." He looked over at her. "Why?"

She didn't look up.

"It's taken me years," she admitted quietly and dashed her name out of the sand again. She was giving a piece of herself up for him, she realized, and it hurt. She had very little to give away. James didn't respond for a while.

"I'm sorry," he finally said and she looked up and let out a breath.

She thought she was trying to make a point, when she said that to him. She was trying to show him something important.

"If I could make you understand," she said and trailed off.

"What?" He said.

"Why I can't marry you," she continued. "Then I'd have to understand it myself. But I don't." She felt him put his arms around her and she turned and let herself be held.

"I get it, Talia," James said, then added. "I'm an expert in having no idea who you are."

"I know," she said.

"I can help," he told her.

If I can even _be_ helped, she thought.


	41. 41 hotel room

41 [hotel room]

Word on Belova came later that day, as Natasha and James were preparing again for bed, and Natasha almost shouted in surprise, but she glanced over her shoulder at James behind her and bit her tongue. She looked back down at her phone and read it again.

Agent Romanoff;

Target Belova located in Houston, TX, USA, at 29.7628° N, 95.3831° W. Locally placed agents Volle and Austin are available for back up upon request.

Her first instinct was, of course, to show the message to James, but she stopped herself and turned around to watch him, leaning against the wall and wrapping her free arm around herself. He was yawning and pulling off his shoes and pulling back the covers of the bed, and she remembered how she couldn't stop seeing the weight of their earlier conversation on him throughout the day. She kept finding him lost in thought, his shoulders slumped. She could almost _see _him beating himself up, going over the conversation again and again and again, and half the reason she knew this was because she was doing the exact same thing herself.

What if I just didn't say anything to him, Natasha thought and she glanced back down at her phone and then slid it into her pocket. An idea began to form in her mind.

So she turned off the lights and climbed into bed with James and lay there with him in the dark until she was sure he was asleep, and then she got up and, as silently as she could, dressed herself again and walked out the door alone.

It was raining and the street was dark and slick and the sidewalks glowed with reflected light. She stood there by the street until she could hail a cab, and she took it uptown in a thirty-five minute drive to where SHIELD had told her Belova would be.

She got out of the cab at the edge of the city, amid dirty motels and buildings closed for demolition, and she slicked back her wet hair and approached a small one story building on the right with tape over the windows.

She double checked the coordinates and looked back up at the building and made a face.

"Damn you, Belova," she muttered under her breath and put her phone away and stepped forward and knocked on the door. She could hear shuffling inside and then, suddenly afraid that Yelena might try to run, she adjusted her balance and curled up her fists and kicked the door down.

Old wood splintered and Natasha stepped inside, out of the drizzle, to meet a stunned Yelena Belova under a meager light. Yelena wasn't in her Black Widow uniform this time. She wore a pair of scuffed combat boots and torn jeans under a thick, brown jacket, and her blonde curls that so distinguished her to Natasha were shoved haphazardly under a winter hat. Her blue eyes were wide in surprise and she was on her feet, her fists up. She stared.

Natasha looked around the room. It had been some sort of restaurant once, but now it was old and falling apart. She saw a duffel bag in the corner open, and a blanket stretched out on the floor.

"No one knows you're here," Natasha observed. "You're squatting."

Yelena didn't respond, but her eyes became hard. Natasha could almost hear her gritting her teeth across the room. She looked up at Yelena and put her hands in her pockets casually and shrugged. "I've done the same," she admitted and Yelena's eyes searched her.

"What are you doing here," Yelena finally said in Russian. Natasha looked around herself and she almost wanted to take a chair and sit, just to show Yelena that she wasn't here to fight, not yet at least, but she thought it might not be wise to be that relaxed. Instead, she leaned up against the wall behind her and began to wipe the rainwater off her face and shoulders, pushing sopping strands of hair back into place.

"What do you think," she replied coldly. "This is ridiculous. You are a child. And I'm going to end it now, in whatever way I have to." Yelena looked her up and down.

"Then what are you doing?" She asked. "Why… Why aren't you attacking me?" Natasha looked at Yelena and sighed. She looked down and pulled her sleeve back to reveal her Widow's Bites on either arm, and then glanced back up.

"I want to talk to you first," she said.

"Why," Yelena demanded and Natasha began to glare.

"Because someone took the time to talk to _me _once and it saved my life, you ignorant little brat, now sit down before I change my mind and snap your neck," Natasha hissed.

"You couldn't," Yelena taunted and Natasha's eyes grew dark.

"What did I just say to you," she said threateningly and Yelena went pale and dropped back down onto her chair. "Exactly," Natasha said and she looked at Yelena, but when her eyes softened, Yelena grew bold again.

"Loving the hair cut," she said quietly, a taunting smirk on her face and Natasha felt her pulse quicken with anger, but instead of letting it show, she shoved it down and reached up with one hand to twirl some of her wet hair on her fingers.

"I know you did it just to torment me," Natasha said. "It was disgusting, violating. But I've got a boyfriend who tells me he loves it, and friends who reassure me, and I know it really doesn't matter. What do you have?" Yelena leaned back and rolled her eyes.

"Classic," she said. "You're going to play the 'power of friendship' card." Yelena looked up at Natasha, her blue eyes icy. "What is this, a Hallmark movie?"

Natasha crossed her arms.

"This is exactly why you _shouldn't _be the Black Widow, Natalia," Yelena continued. "Because you want these things. Friends and boyfriends." She sneered. "Dead weight." Natasha shivered, and it wasn't entirely from the cold.

It's painful to see nothing inside you except a past that you're ashamed of, and it's even worse to see that past in front of you in the form of another person.

I was just like her, Natasha thought to herself.

"You're a fool, Yelena Belova," Natasha said. "A real fool."

Yelena threw out her hands.

"I'm only telling you the truth!" She exclaimed. "Tell me I'm lying! Tell me that you don't prioritize people. Tell me that you don't wish you were someone else sometimes." Yelena shrugged and Natasha recognized that over-confidence she'd seen in her at every single encounter they'd had previously. "I'm just giving you a chance to make that a reality."

"Because I want an identity?" Natasha cried and stepped forward now off the wall. "A life? That's why I can't be the Black Widow?"

"Precisely," Yelena hissed from her seat where she dramatically crossed her legs in front of her. "You've forgotten how to sacrifice."

"If that's what you want to sacrifice for this, you have no idea what you're giving up," Natasha said. "No idea at all."

Natasha realized that she was becoming defensive. Her shoulders were tense, she was stepping closer to Yelena, letting herself become angry, and she stopped and tried to remember that that wasn't her purpose there.

Remember Clint, she thought to herself and she let out a long breath and looked Yelena in her eyes.

"I'm trying to give you a chance," she said gently. "To get out. To avoid doing exactly what I did for years. To make yourself happy without having to learn the hard way by making yourself miserable."

"You're an idiot if you think you can actually _talk me out_ of killing you, Natalia Romanova," Yelena said. "You wanna sit down and have a heart to heart? You've really lost your touch."

"Where are your priorities?" Natasha cried. "What do you even think you'll gain from this title?"

"Are you kidding," Yelena said dryly.

"It won't make you happy!" Natasha said.

"No, it didn't make _you_ happy," Yelena repeated, leaning forward and jabbing a gloved finger at Natasha. "But it'll make me happy." Natasha found now that she was the one grinding her teeth together.

"Don't convince yourself that you're so different from me, Yelena," she said. "Take my example as a warning to you."

"Your friends make you happy! And your petty 'ideals'. So give me the title, the responsibility, and go live that other woman's life!" Yelena cried and suddenly, Natasha realized this conversation really wasn't going how she'd thought it would, and she was distinctly reminded of their first encounter in the warehouse.

Maybe Yelena's not the real fool here, Natasha thought to herself spitefully. Maybe you're the fool for thinking you could talk sense into her.

"I know he asked you to marry him today," Yelena added and Natasha froze. "You could say yes! Give up this thing you're telling me you hate and say yes to him!"

Natasha almost wasn't listening at this point. Rage buzzed in her ears.

Before she knew it, she was across the room with Yelena's collar in her hands, dragging her to her feet.

"_I _define who the Black Widow is, child," she hissed. "Me! She is not a strict definition and she is not a friendless murderer and she is certainly! Not! You!"

"Oh, we'll see," Yelena said and she grinned a coy half-smile that made Natasha feel sick because of how much it reminded her of herself.


	42. 42 Yelena's safe house outside Houston

42 [Yelena's safe house on the outside of Houston]

Yelena reached up and pried Natasha's hands off of her and stepped back.

"You know you can't leave," she said. "I'm not going to watch you walk out."

"I know," Natasha said and she rolled her sleeves up further now, letting her Widows Bites shine in the dull, yellow light. "I just hoped it wouldn't come to this."

Yelena grinned. She almost looked excited.

"You're too funny, Natalia," she replied horribly cheerfully and she reached up with her gloved fingers to pull her hat down further over her head. "The Winter Soldier will miss you." She began to back up and Natasha watched her place her hands on the back of the wooden chair she'd been sitting on. "But don't worry, Romanova. I'll carry on your legacy even better than you have."

The next thing Natasha saw was the chair coming for her, swinging through the air, but she'd predicted this and she ducked just in time. Yelena stumbled with the momentum of the swinging chair as it kept going and Natasha's foot darted out and kicked at Yelena's knees. She cried out in surprise and started to stumble, and when she did, Natasha stood back up and grabbed the chair from her. Yelena fell, her back against the wall, and Natasha raised the chair over her head and slammed it down, but Yelena rolled out of the way in time. She rushed up beside Natasha and rammed her knee into Natasha's ribs.

Natasha's fingers loosened on the chair leg and she sputtered, gasping, and as she doubled over, Yelena tried to do it again. Natasha dove out of the way in time and took Yelena with her to the ground. She landed hard on Yelena's chest and now they were both out of breath, but Natasha reached up to wipe her hair out of her face and pointed her Widows Bites.

Yelena's elbow came up out of nowhere and Natasha felt it ram into the side of her head hard and she stopped, seeing stars. That was when Yelena got the upper hand, flipping Natasha over slamming her onto her back. She reached into one of her coat pockets deftly and produced a switchblade. Natasha looked up at her, dazed, and gasped when she saw the glitter of the blade. It was coming at her fast, diving down to settle itself in her eye socket and she threw up both arms automatically, screaming out loud. The knife embedded itself into Natasha's forearm and her eyes widened. She almost didn't feel the pain, she was so stunned.

Horrified and in an adrenaline rush of painless fear, Natasha found the strength to throw Yelena off and send her sprawling to the ground. She found a table nearby and used it to pull herself shakily to her feet, and then she looked down at her right arm, where a giant knife sat wedged between her bones, and she gripped it with her left. When she tried to pull, the pain blinded her.

No, she told herself though the thickness of fear and her mind. Leave it in, leave it in. You'll bleed less.

Across from her, Yelena was pulling herself to her feet. She looked down at the knife and the fight came to something of a lull as Yelena grinned.

"Ouch," she said. "That'll sting." Natasha looked up at her.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a real piece of work," she gasped. Before Yelena could respond, Natasha acted, slipping a round disk out of one of her sleeves with her good hand and flinging it at Yelena. When it hit her, lines of blue light exploded and Yelena screamed and convulsed. Natasha took advantage of the time and ran to her, stretching a cord between her hands in order to strangle her. Somehow, Yelena grabbed her first by her shoulders, stopping her and gripping her so hard that Natasha could almost feel her nails through her jacket, a strength Natasha still hadn't learned to expect from Yelena's wrathful, doll-ish face, and then with the glow of electricity fading from her eyes, she reared her head back and smashed Natasha in the face. Natasha felt the bridge of her nose crunch and suddenly, her mouth and throat were flooded with hot, thick, coppery blood. She choked on it, gargling through the blood. Then, Yelena did it again and Natasha didn't feel the cord slip from her fingers as she started to see black.

"You aren't-gaACKK," Natasha choked and blood dribbled down her chin. "-kk-the B-Black-"

Yelena's fist came almost out of nowhere and CRRACK right into Natasha's face again. Natasha felt her knees hit the ground, and that's when she knew she had to run. She wasn't going to make it through this fight. She'd made mistakes, she'd tried to reason with Yelena, and she let her guard down and now… Now, she was too far gone to make up the difference in this fight. She wasn't going to come out on top and if she wanted to live, if she wanted to keep Yelena away from _her_ legacy, she had to make the smart choice. With what strength she had left, Natasha pried herself out of Yelena's hands and then drew strength out of her fear-powered adrenaline and delivered one final, powerful kick to the side of Yelena's head before she turned around.

Natasha burst out the door and the rain was coming down worse now, thick and heavy, and Natasha coughed up blood there in the puddles on the street before starting to run. Feet pounding, arms pumping, lungs screaming kind of run. She didn't know where she was going. She just had to go!

She could hear Yelena behind her, a second set of footsteps splashing in puddles, and she took a sharp turn, almost slipping, and raced down a black alley. Yelena was shouting something behind her and she looked up and watched something sail over her head as she ran towards it. Something glowing. Natasha's eyes widened as the bomb hit the ground before her and began to take everything with it and she made another sharp turn to avoid it. Some of the blast hit her and she flew through the air and landed hard on her right arm. She thought she'd never felt pain like that before, as the knife turned between her bones as it hit the ground before her and then she landed heavy on the wound. The knife began to wedge itself out and Natasha ripped it out with a scream. Blood gushed. She tried to pull herself to her feet again and collapsed, then grabbed the brick wall and tried again and finally stood upright. Then, leaving a trail of red behind her, kept going. She had no time to stop.

James, I need to get James, she thought frantically. Thirty minute drive here. No idea where I am. Bleeding out. How do I get back?!

Yelena was catching up and Natasha could hear her start to round the corner and, working on frenzied instinct, she collapsed in the dark corner behind a dumpster and clung to the corner between the metal and the wall, sinking into the shadow. She prayed Yelena didn't see her, didn't see anything, and Yelena was rounding the corner now. Natasha watched her from the corner as she ran past and stared, stunned at her luck, as Yelena kept going without her.

She'll notice the blood not in the puddles anymore, Natasha thought. She'll come back. Natasha hugged her right arm to herself and scrambled to her feet and began to run in the opposite direction.

Where am I where am i where am i

cab? can i take a cab?

can't… can't walk that far. won't make it…

Natasha ran until she couldn't anymore, and walked until she couldn't anymore, and she thought she could recognize the landmarks around her and followed them, but she was still too far from James to be safe when she dizzily collapsed in an alley and everything was _woosh_ gone.


	43. 43 hotel room

43 [hotel room]

Bucky stirred in his sleep and woke sometime in the night, bothered by an irksome inability to sleep and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong. He turned to Natalia and realized with a breath-taking shock that her side of the bed was empty. He sat there for only a second, staring, dumbfounded, before scrambling out of the bed and stumbling around the room in a panic.

He was at a loss. What to do, what to do, what to do?!

Where was she? Was she okay? Had she been taken? Had she…

Had she _left him?!_

He put his hands on his face and in his hair and stared at the bed.

"Relax," he told himself for a second. "Relax, relax, relax. It's p-probably… Nothing. Maybe she's coming right back."

He reasoned with himself. Maybe she went downstairs to the lobby for some reason? Maybe she was getting something from a vending machine across the hall? Maybe she…

Her weapons were gone. Bucky stared at the empty space across the room and realized that the pit in his stomach was right and something was wrong.

He took his phone and sat with it on the edge of the bed and tried calling her cell phone and it went straight to her voicemail every single time. Bucky's mouth was going dry with fear. He dialed Steve immediately.

The other line rang only a few times before Steve picked up, a mumbly, familiar voice on the other end and Bucky thought he'd cry.

"Buck?" Steve said. "Somethin' up?"

"Nat," Bucky gasped. "Natalia's gone. She's just… She's gone."

"What?" Steve said. Bucky could hear him sitting up. "It's…"

"Four," Bucky said for him. "AM. And she's gone." He swallowed. "Her stuff is gone; her cell phone, her weapons, her shoes." He stared at the carpet in shock. "I-I don't… Understand."

Steve took a while before he responded.

"She's gone," he repeated, as though he were processing this. "She's just gone."

"Yes!" Bucky exclaimed. "I've called her phone and it's dead or turned off or something, but she doesn't answer. And I don't understand…"

Then, as he woke more and more, Bucky remembered the events of the previous day and let out a groan.

"What?" Steve said.

"Steve, I asked her to _marry me _yesterday," he said.

"Huh?" Steve said. "I thought you were just gonna mention it!"

"It went badly!" Bucky cried loudly, probably too loudly for a sleeping hotel, continuing on instead of explaining everything to Steve. "It went really, really badly! And now I'm almost thinking it went worse than I'd thought!"

"Bucky, there's no way she just up and left you because of whatever happened yesterday," Steve said.

"Then where is she?!" Bucky cried. "She left by herself, that much is obvious. All her stuff is gone. But she told me nothing!"'

It was about now that Bucky fit the phone into the crook between his neck and his shoulder and started frantically pulling on clothes. First, his shoes, then a shirt and his pants from yesterday. He didn't even bother with his gloves, and he was out of the room and running down the hall and out the hotel and onto the street.

"What's happening?" Steve cried.

"I'm gonna find her!" Bucky said. "Something's wrong!" Then, "Steve?" He said quickly.

"Yeah?" Steve said.

"Stay on the line? Please?" Bucky begged.

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve said and Bucky started to run again.

He had no idea where he was going. He took a few hard spills when his sneakers slipped on the water and he was too frantic to be cautious and he was just minutes away from crying, turning down alleys and running up sidewalks and feeling hope every time he saw a female figure nearby and feeling it crushed again when he realized it wasn't Natalia.

A few minutes later, in an alley a few blocks away from the hotel, Bucky spotted the red. He skidded to a stop and he felt fear eat him alive and Steve was asking in his ear, 'what's going on, what's happening', but he couldn't answer.

Bucky found Natalia collapsed and dropped to his knees next to her, in puddles of blood diluted with rainwater, and he dropped his phone and

and the last thing Steve heard before the phone short-circuited in a deep puddle of water Bucky's horrified screaming.


	44. 44 hospital room

44 [hospital room]

Nat looked awful, lying there wrapped in bandages, her eyes closed. Clint was looking away, taking deep breaths and holding them and telling himself that he wasn't going to cry in front of Captain futzin' America, but it was becoming a difficult task.

He folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Barnes dropped back down into his chair near her and he was staring at her, too, Clint noticed. He took her hand and swallowed. Clint stared at him and tried to make sense of a hundred emotions that came up on him.

"Doctor's said she'll be okay," Barnes told Clint and the Captain quietly. He'd met them at the entrance of the hospital and brought them up here, to where Nat had been lying all night. He looked pretty terrible too, with his slumping shoulders and his dark, emotionless eyes. They were red-ringed now, those eyes. Clint looked down.

"What happened?" Clint asked and he leaned himself up against the wall, away from where Natasha's boyfriend sat. He wanted to be near to her, but he found he didn't quite trust himself, not with the explosion of overwhelming emotions inside him.

Futz, Nat. She devastated him. He looked at her now and wished he'd been there to help her, wished he could have fought at her side. Wished she didn't have to be on a hospital bed. He looked at her now and he felt all that regret of the things he should have said and the things he should have done that might have kept her with him years ago. He looked at her now and felt that lingering love for her, all that camaraderie and all that admiration and all that… Aww, geez. She was beautiful, even with gauze around her head and a splint across her nose. He'd kick himself if he could. How come you can't keep anythin' good around, Barton?

And Barnes. That guy made him so mad, and not because of any rational reason, but just because he was loved by Natasha. It was stupid, Clint thought, and he berated himself for it. He couldn't blame Barnes. After all, him and Nat, it didn't work out and it was for the best and Clint was more than grateful for her friendship and Barnes made her happy. Bucky wasn't even a bad guy, Clint knew that much. They'd had a few encounters before, worked together on a couple Hydra missions and they'd never gotten to know each other personally, but Clint could tell he seemed decent. He even liked him, despite everything. And if Nat was gonna date anyone, why not let it be someone that even _Cap_ loved?

But all the rationalizing in the world couldn't stop Clint from feeling so much jealousy.

And another thing, about Barnes. Something that had wracked at Clint since the beginning. He hated to put it into words, because that made it all the more real, hated even to relate something to it, but… Bucky Barnes… Knew what it was like. To… To be… Clint ground his teeth and forced himself to think it. _Brainwashed_. Bucky was like him. Clint had never met someone quite like that, someone who could share that experience. He'd always imagined saying something to Barnes about it, but any old idiot could tell him that was a grade A, Barton-patented bad idea.

"Dunno," Barnes said, and Clint, lost in the thoughts of everything he had felt had almost forgotten that he'd asked a question to begin with.

"What do you mean, you don't know what happened?" Clint demanded and Barnes looked up angrily.

"I mean I don't know," he replied. "She disappeared in the middle of the night and I found her like this."

"Yelena," Steve said.

"Who else," Barnes said.

"Am I the only one left out, here?" Clint said loudly. He had no idea what was going on. After all, Natasha had made him promise a long time ago. When she said no questions, there were no questions. He looked over at Steve. "She told _you_?"

"No," Steve said and nodded towards Bucky. "_He_ told me."

"Well," Clint said spitefully. "Fill me in whenever it's convenient for you."

He reprimanded himself in his head for being so difficult. He knew he shouldn't be; after all, he wasn't the only one in the room losing sleep over Natasha Romanoff's wellbeing. He had no good reason to be surly, but he was anyway. Clint remembered the last time he'd spoke to Bucky, over the phone a few days ago. They'd gotten into a shouting match then and Barnes' yelling right into his ear had upset Clint's hearing aids for the rest of the day. He should at least be trying to apologize for that as well, but he and Barnes hadn't spoken about it since.

Now Bucky sighed.

"Yelena Belova, Red Room assassin after the title of Black Widow," Barnes said. "She's dangerous, and she's got thugs at her disposal in case she doesn't wanna take on the both of us at once. She's been tailing Talia and I for the past, I dunno, week or two."

"Guess that explains the guys we ran into on the way here," Clint said.

"What?" Bucky said and Steve made a face.

"I wasn't gonna say anything, cause it wasn't a big deal," he said. "Clint and I took them down before they could even do anything, but there were a few hitmen."

"I told you!" Barnes cried.

"No one told me!" Clint said.

"Well consider yourself told!" Barnes said back.

"She's sleeping, would you keep your voice down?" Clint said and Barnes glared, then looked back down at Natasha.

"Yeah," he finally said and let out a breath. A minute of silence passed and Clint rested up against that wall and looked away.

Then, after a time, Steve said something more in a quiet voice, and Clint reached up and turned up his hearing aid before he realized the conversation wasn't for him.

"... -at happened yesterday?" Steve said. Bucky shifted.

"Yeah, I was gonna tell you," he replied. Then, he shrugged. "Didn't go as planned."

"Well…?" Steve replied, nudging him to go on and Bucky rolled his shoulders and let out a breath. He ran a hand through his hair and let it fall back into his eyes.

"I'm getting bad about keeping my hair short," he commented nonchalantly and Steve dug his elbow further in Bucky's ribs. "Hey, geez, chill out!"

"Don't change the subject," Steve said, and then lowered his voice again. "This is serious. Especially if it could have… _affected _Natasha's thinking." Clint looked over and watched them, now really intrigued. Bucky looked sick now. He stared at the ground, but his face was still angled high enough for Clint to read his lips in addition to hearing with the aids. What did Bucky do?

"Wasn't supposed to be a bad thing," Bucky said.

"I know," Steve said and he leaned himself up against Bucky's shoulder almost comfortingly. Bucky pursed his lips and then took a deep breath and spoke again.

"We went down to the beach," he said. "Just for fun. We were supposed to be having fun. And, uh, it just… Came out. She was tellin' me she loved me and suddenly, it just seemed like a good idea." Barnes groaned. "I didn't say it how I wanted to say it at all. I wanted to just bring up the idea, mention it say, 'look at this possibility!' But instead, we got down on our knees and I asked her to marry me right there."

Clint froze. He was almost sure he'd heard him wrong. _Marry _him? He asked her to marry him?!

"Then what," Steve said and Bucky shrugged.

"She freaked out," he said. "Shut down. And she turned around and sat on the sand and refused to look at me." Bucky put his head in his hands. "I completely ruined it because I had one moment of impulsiveness."

Steve seemed at a loss. Clint, still reeling, looked away.

He felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. Nat? Married? He couldn't even imagine it. But then again, apparently, neither could she.


	45. 45 a hospital? somewhere?

45 [a hospital? somewhere?]

Natasha was grateful not to wake up alone. That was the first thing she thought as she slowly came back into consciousness to feel metal fingers wrapped around hers, and then after that, she thought about the pain. It was everywhere, hidden under a medicated numbness, and she felt undeniably spent.

She groaned quietly and opened her eyes and, to her shock, she saw Clint Barton in front of her. She stared ahead at him for a second, certain she was imagining things. Then, she began to hear James' voice and she looked over to him, sitting next to her diligently, wrapping her fingers up in his, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. He was talking.

"You found me," she said quietly.

"I've got you," he said to her, and then… Steve? Steve was sitting next to James. Natasha looked at Steve, and then back at James and then back to Clint at the end of her bed. She watched him hurry over, grab another chair and sit himself on her other side. She stared at him, speechless, then looked back at James.

"Why are they here?!" She cried.

"They… They were worried about you," James said weakly, then he bit his lip and started to wipe his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Talia, but I'm not you. I couldn't just tell them not to come."

"Good to see you, too, Nat," Clint said awkwardly and she looked over at him again and sucked in a breath at the pain in her head when she moved it too fast. She took her hand back from James and reached up to feel gauze stretched across her forehead underneath strands of short red hair and medical tape across her nose. She looked down and took catalogue of her injuries. Her right forearm was wrapped tightly in gauze and a plastic cast of some sort and all she could feel in it was the numbness, so deep as though it wasn't even there to feel anymore. She couldn't see under the sheets and that awful hospital gown, but she was sure she was covered in bruises. She remembered Yelena's knee hitting her in the gut, slamming into her ribcage, and almost winced. When whatever they were pumping her with wore off, she'd really feel it.

"I-," she said. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you, Clint," she continued and frowned. "It's just that… I'm not glad to see you."

"You couldn't make less sense if you were talking to me in Russian," he said, clearly disgruntled.

"Natasha, what happened?" Steve leaned over and said. Natasha looked back and forth from him to James and James shrugged one shoulder.

"They know everything I know," he said. "Which right now, isn't as much as I'd like it to be." Natasha let out a breath.

"SHIELD got news of Belova," she admitted. "When you and I got back to the hotel yesterday."

James stared at her for a moment, as though he couldn't understand.

A quiet second passed and Natasha let him fill in the blanks himself.

"Y-You left without me," he whispered and she closed her eyes and nodded, careful with the throbbing headache in the front of her skull. "You fought her alone. _Alone_."

"Yes," Natasha said. "But you don't understand, James, I had to go alone. I had to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"What are you talking about?" James said and Natasha bit her lip and her eyes shifted over to Clint and back again and James frowned, looking confused, but Natasha knew that Clint understood. He groaned and leaned forward, putting his elbows on Natasha's mattress and leaning in to her.

"Aww, geez, Nat," he cried. "That was _different_!"

"Not so different," Natasha replied. "I just wanted to give her the opportunity. It's only fair."

"What, to… To quit?" Steve asked. "Like you?"

"What?" James cried.

"Now don't all of you look at me like I'm some sort of idiot," Natasha replied defensively, because she could see way none of them truly understood. "It was only fair. It was only what you would have done too in my position; all of you!" She looked around them, her eyes harsh because she wanted them to be. "I wouldn't be here if Clint hadn't given me a chance."

"It wasn't like that," Clint said and Natasha glared at him.

"It was exactly like that," she said. "It didn't work, clearly. But the point is that I tried."

"She could have _killed _you," James breathed. "She nearly did."

"But I got out," Natasha said and suddenly, James jumped to his feet.

"We gotta switch cities," he said quickly. "Gotta cover our tracks. Now. She's got a step in front of us, now we have to hide." He looked down at her, his eyes still red with tears. "You can finish up healing in another hospital, far away from here, hidden." Natasha opened her mouth and James' eyes hardened. "Don't argue! You know she'll be coming, to finish up the job! She's probably already here. I'll bet she's just waiting for Steve and Clint and I to leave to the room so she can do something horrible."

"I'm not arguing, calm down!" Natasha cried back.

"If you hadn't lied to me about it," he said, his voice escalating, desperate. She swallowed as he slipped into Russian, which he was prone to do and she usually didn't think about it much, but right now, it seemed important. "If you'd let us work together! Like a team! Like we're supposed to be! Maybe you'd be okay, Natalia!"


	46. 46 the previous night, on the street

46 [the previous night, on the street]

Yelena used to love music boxes. They were cute, she had thought, and when she was a child, she'd begun to collect them. She wasn't supposed to be collecting things, however, so whenever she managed to get her hands a new one, she'd hide it under her bed at the complex. She kept them for years, piling the little paper boxes where no one could see them and being proud of every single one.

It was stupid, she told herself now, but relatively harmless. Right? Her father, the man, he had not had the right to do what he'd done.

Yelena leaned up against a shop window in the rain, her hands in her pockets and her hat pulled down over her head, having given up the chase for Romanova because it was raining so hard she couldn't see, and she stared in at the little decorative boxes on the display. She'd been standing there for a while, staring wistfully and remembering her collection.

She'd had one with a mirror and a horse figurine inside that turned with the music. She'd had one without a cover, only the little metal parts that turned to make the tinkling sounds. She'd had one that had a little display with a drawer that played when the drawer was pulled out. And, more importantly, they were _hers_.

The man had destroyed them. He'd found them and taken them years ago and Yelena made a face thinking about it. They'd been in pieces, smashed to bits to drive home a point and she'd sobbed when she saw them. It hurt now, trying to remember why it had meant so much to her then.

"Natalia Romanova was not distracted by this nonsense when _she_ became Black Widow," the man had spat at her.

It was always about Romanova. It always had been. Yelena mused on this, her hands in her pockets and her eyes on the ground as she turned around, away from the shop, and began to walk back to her safe house. The rain hit her like hail and each heavy drop hurt on his head and her shoulders. She had to go back quickly, pack up her things, move as fast as possible. She had to find Romanova again and finish the job, before the man made good on his threat to send someone else. Yelena kicked at the rain and it splashed over the toe of her boot and she frowned.

She missed those music boxes.

It seemed as though everything in Yelena's life was about Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow, and becoming better. But for once, this isn't about her. Not then , not what ran through Yelena's head when she'd stopped in the street in front of a store window in the rain and stared, suddenly bombarded with memory. That was about Pyotr Belova. And music boxes.


	47. 47 in transit

47 [in transit]

Later that day, Bucky worked through a transfer with the hospital, waving Natalia's Avengers ID around because he knew it could get her anything and everything she needed, even an immediate transfer, and then he closed his eyes and pointed at a map and decided they were headed to Chicago. So that night, Steve and Clint and Bucky accompanied a very bruised Natalia onto a small, private plane provided by the hospital, headed for Illinois.

"We'll keep moving around," Bucky was saying. "Yelena won't know where to go next." Natalia had her eyes closed, the medication making her weary, and she mumbled something in response that no one could make out. Bucky swallowed and rubbed his palm. "You'll be okay," he told her.

"Mm mmhmm Jamessss," she said and he leaned over the cot she was lying on and pressed a kiss to her head. He brushed hair off her forehead.

"Rest," he told her. "Just, go back to sleep, okay?"

"You're going to have to kill Belova eventually," Steve pointed out and Bucky swallowed. He was still looking down, his eyes on Natalia's face, her delicate, closed eyelashes, her pink mouth, the bandages on her face recently changed with the help of a nurse on the hospital plane.

"Yeah," he said. "Believe me, I've already tried. She's slippery. Offing her is almost as hard as it would be to try and off Nat." He looked up at Steve. "And that'd be pretty hard."

"Have you got a plan?" Steve asked.

"We've alerted SHIELD," Bucky said and shrugged. "She's on their hit list, so… That's something. To be honest, uh," he hesitated and made a face. "I don't know what to do."

Clint, who had been pretty silent for the most of the trip, leaned in and Bucky watched him take Natalia's non-injured hand.

"She'll get out of it," he said quietly, holding Natalia's hand tightly. "She'll fix it. She always does." Bucky didn't know how to respond.

"Yeah," he finally said weakly.

They arrived in Chicago in the night and moving jarred Natalia awake as they got her back into the new hospital. She reached up and took Bucky's arm, dragged him down so his face was near hers and then she kissed his cheek weakly. Then, in her drugged half-sleep, she mumbled in his ear.

"I _would _say yes, you know," she slurred. "I would. If I were someone else."

"If you were someone else, I wouldn't have asked you in the first place," Bucky said, tears stinging in his eyes, but she just hummed and her fingers on his arm loosened and he stood back up and looked away because, for the third or fourth time that day, he was going to cry and he hated it.

He grabbed Steve, dragged him outside of the hospital room with him, and then before Steve could say a word, Bucky threw his arms around him and squeezed him and let out a sob and, confused, Steve began to hug him back.

In the morning, Natalia didn't say anything to Bucky about what she'd said that night. Bucky didn't know if she even knew she'd said it, but he didn't say anything either. He wouldn't let her order from the hospital cafeteria. Instead, he went out into early morning Chicago and bought her something himself and brought it back; an egg sandwich and a coffee from the place down the street.

Clint watched him buzz around Natalia all morning, watched the panicked looks he threw to Steve and the extra lengths he went for her, and at first, Bucky had been confused. Clint was staring, it was borderline rude.

Did he realize he was staring? (Probably not. He didn't seem like a rude person.)

Was it the arm? (Bucky, in his haste, had not picked out a long sleeved shirt and he was not wearing gloves.)

Was it the way Bucky continuously looked like he'd cry again? (Because he did. And he might.)

And as soon as he had become fed up and was about to say something to Barton, Barton beat him to it and stunned him.

"You're a good guy, Bucky," Clint mused quietly and Bucky turned around and looked at him.

"What?" He said. Clint nodded down to Natalia.

"You really… You're good to her," he said and Bucky didn't know what to say.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "But I didn't need your approval."

"I know, I know," Clint said and leaned back in his chair, raising his hands defensively. "That's all I'm saying. You're a good guy."

"Well…," Bucky said, and couldn't think of anything to say next. What was Clint getting at?

Clint just shrugged now and folded his arms and looked away and Bucky looked at Steve, who shrugged too, and stood there, confused.


	48. 48 Clint's apartment, a few years ago

48 [Clint's apartment, a few years ago]

Natasha didn't scream during nightmares. Not usually. But she wept. If he stayed up late enough, he could hear her in the other room, sobbing into a pillow, and it made him sick to think she was in there all alone, shaking like a leaf and bawling. This was one of those nights, and Clint sat up and listened for as long as he could before finally, he got up and he marched himself into her bedroom and woke her up. He turned on the lights and pulled the blankets off of her and grabbed her up in his arms and hugged her to him tightly until she was crying into his undershirt and slowly shifting, waking. He had been right. She was trembling.

"Clint," she breathed and then stumbled through a few words in weepy Russian and he just rocked her back and forth and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Shhh, come on."

They sat there for a while, Natasha pressing herself into Clint and shaking and Clint resting his cheek on the top of her head and kissing her hair every so often and whispering comforting things.

He wasn't sure what she dreamed about. She had never said.

"Do you wanna go put on the TV?" He asked her gently, because he knew that helped her sometimes, and she nodded a little into his chest. Then, "Can you walk?" He asked as he tried to help her to her feet, but she was still shaking so violently and when she tried to put weight on her feet, she fell back into him and clutched him. So instead, Clint scooped her up in his arms and carried her bridal style into the living room. "It's fine, it's fine," he told her. "Don't even worry about it, you're okay."

He set her down on the couch and sat next to her and she threw her arms back around him and he put the noise of the TV on the background. He gave her a few more minutes, and after a while, her tears quieted and her shaking was gradually stopping. Still, she snuggled next to him and wiped at her face and Clint looked over and thought for the first time, 'I love you.'

It didn't surprise him, like he thought it should. He'd known he loved her. He'd known for a while and he was just now admitting it, he supposed. He'd loved her ever since he'd met her in Russia. She'd literally taken his breath away.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked her, like he asked her every time something like this happened. "You can tell me anything, you know. Like what happened to you."

She shook her head, like she did every time.

"Nat, you're gonna hurt yourself if you just bottle everything up, you know," he told her.

Natasha took a long time responding, and when she did, she pulled away from him a little and wiped her face. She took a deep breath and looked at him and her face was illuminated by the glow of the TV and Clint thought she was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his entire life.

"I'll stay here, Barton," she said quietly. "I'll stay with you and I won't run. But you have to promise me that you'll never ask."

"Ask what?" Clint said and swallowed, playing ignorant.

"Anything," Natasha said. "I want to put the past behind me and never think of it again. I don't want to tell it to you. I don't want you to know the things I've done." Clint felt as though his heart had fallen straight through him. He squeezed her.

"Aww geez, Nat, I'd never judge you, you know that," he said to her, because it was true. Then, Natasha wriggled out of his arms and sat there, the sweatshirt of his she slept in pooling around her shoulders and her hands at the ends of the sleeves, looking him in the eyes with the most desperate of serious faces.

"Promise. Me," she said. Clint swallowed for a second time.

"Ha," he gasped. "You're, uh, you're breakin' my heart, Romanoff," he said to her and her eyes hardened. He watched her jaw tick when she ground her teeth together.

"Get used to it, Barton," she replied sharply. "No one, not now and not ever, will know everything about me."

"Seems sorta lonely," Clint said, and he felt as though he were still gasping because, futz, is this how I lose her? Is this how I watch this good thing leave me, too?

"Clint, please," Natasha said and she softened a little, changing her tactics, begging. "Let me… Let me just keep this, okay? Let me move on." Move on? Clint couldn't look into Natasha's eyes anymore and he looked down and shifted his weight and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Who was he to tell her that she couldn't move on? Who was he to stand in the way of Natasha Romanoff getting better? He thought this, but somehow, his heart still broke a little.

This is right for her, he thought to himself. And you can just suck it up and live with it, Barton. Be a little selfless for once.

"Fine," he said after a while. "Fine, Nat. I promise. I'll never ask. You get your secrets, congratulations." Natasha's face broke into a relieved smile, and she relaxed back down with him again, her shoulders sinking and she slipped herself under his arm and put her head on his shoulder and her legs in his lap. He knew she was enjoying being held and he wrapped his other arm around her and clung to her.  
>"Thank you, Clint," she said gratefully. "Really." Clint swallowed.<p>

"Yeah, sure," he said.


	49. 49 Chicago, Illinois

49 [Chicago, Illinois]

Bucky tried not to leave Natalia's side very often. To be honest, none of them did, and they all buzzed around her to heed her every beck and call; three helpless and ultimately useless men. And as much as Bucky wanted to talk to Natalia about what she'd said about marrying him earlier, he thought now wouldn't be a good time.

It hurt to watch her heal. He looked at her, with the pain meds and the broken nose and the giant cut on her forehead and thought, _four days_. Four days for me, maybe five. A week at the worst and here she is, suffering, and there's nothing I can do.

He looked down at his hands, his bare right wrist, and swallowed and put them away. If he did anything and she found out, she'd suffer even worse than she already did and he didn't want to see her tears. Still, the urge was there, a false assuage to his particular cocktail of guilt and self-hatred.

He looked beside him to look at Steve, and he scooted desperately closer to him and luckily Steve scooted closer as Bucky did, on instinct, on intuition, Bucky didn't know, but his presence was an unspeakable comfort.

Clint came back in with a bag of fast food for lunch. He pulled out the tray connected to Natalia's bed and scooted himself up to her, nudging her gently to get her to open her eyes as he took out her meal and placed it in front of her, then shared a corner of her tray with her for himself. He leaned over and handed the bag to Bucky and Bucky handed it to Steve, feeling his appetite gone.

"How're you feeling?" Clint asked Natalia as she started to pick at her food. He took a bite of his burger. "How's your wrist?"

At the same time, Steve leaned over to Bucky and said quietly, sternly, "you should eat, Buck."

Natalia held up her wrist and Bucky stared forward at her. "Still hurts," she said.

"You can eat it. Clint probably didn't get you enough," Bucky replied under his breath. "I'm not hungry and you eat enough for two fellas, anyway."

"Belova got you pretty good there," Clint commented, and Bucky watched him take her hand gently. "But I bet you'll be fine before you even know it."

"She's a trouper," Bucky added louder and Clint smiled a little.

"Nat, tell your boyfriend to eat," Steve said and Bucky frowned.

"Eat, James," Natalia said and Bucky sat back uncomfortably as Steve put a hamburger into his hands.

"No promises," he grumbled, but luckily, Steve and Natalia let that one go.

A minute later, Steve spoke again.

"We gotta figure out what we're doing next," he said. "If we have a plan." Bucky looked down at his burger. He'd only nibbled at it a little when Steve nudged at him. He wished Steve had just taken it. It was hard to eat when he kept looking at his wrist.

"You got any suggestions?" he asked.

"I'm thinking about it," Steve said with a shrug. "Fighting Black Widows isn't really my terrain."

"She's not a Black Widow," Natalia replied like a knee-jerk reaction, like Bucky had predicted she would. "There aren't Black Widows plural. There's just one and it's not her." She looked down again and slowly dipped a few fries into ketchup.

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Steve backpedaled. "Sorry." Natalia shrugged.

"It's fine," she said. "We just have to do something about her. That's the important thing."

"I miss being at home," Bucky commented quietly and Natalia looked over at him sadly.

"Yeah," she said. "I do, too."

And this was especially strange for Natasha, because even in her apartment with James, she'd never necessarily considered herself as a person with a home. It was a roof over her head on a street in a country and the only thing that made it even remotely special was James in her bed and Steve across the road, but suddenly, she'd missed the constancy. The solid stability. As a decently nomadic person and one who was cautious with letting her heart long for things, she was surprised to find that she missed staying in one place. Waking up every day in the same bed in the same room next to the same, wonderful man. Having a routine, something normal, something comforting. She didn't like moving, she was starting to realize. She didn't like moving. She'd just never had much of a chance to figure that out until now.

Meanwhile, Bucky was also missing home and rubbing the skin of his right arm hatefully with his thumb.


	50. 50 hospital

50 [hospital]

That night, when visiting hours ended and Steve and Clint went to go find a hotel as close as possible, Bucky begged for one more hour and, as the boyfriend, he was reluctantly granted it.

"You should be safe," he reassured Natalia, scooting up into her bed with her as gently as he could and wrapping her up in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, the side without the painful cut, and closed her eyes. "Belova's still spinning her wheels somewhere back in Texas. I checked your phone and there's no new SHIELD updates. You'll be okay here." Natalia nodded quietly. "Text me if anything happens," Bucky continued. "If you don't feel safe, I'll get back in here somehow."

"What if I just want you to sleep with me?" She replied, holding her bandaged wrist in her lap carefully and she looked up at him to offer a tired smile. Bucky kissed her smile lovingly and started to comfortingly rub up and down her arm.

"I'd come," he said. "And no one could keep me out."

"That's what I thought," Natalia said, and then Bucky thought to bring up what had been on his mind all day. He sat there with her for another blessed moment in sweet silence, and then he cleared his throat.

"Uh," he said. "If you don't wanna talk about it, just tell me and I'll stop, but…," he sighed. "Do you remember what you said to me during the transfer?" Natalia stiffened in his arms and Bucky cursed himself. "Nevermind, nevermind, forget I said anything, just totally forget it, it's okay, just-"

"James," Natalia quieted him and he trailed off and she looked up at him. She studied his face. "I hadn't realized I'd actually said that," she said. "I thought I'd dreamt it." He shook his head weakly.

"Do you remember what I'd said back?" He asked and she nodded slowly. "I meant it," he added and she looked down, her eyes focusing away from him, traveling back into her lap and he felt her wince as she tried to move the fingers on her right hand. "Careful," he whispered and she sighed and stopped.

"I feel like I have to pull myself apart at the seams, James," she said quietly. "And stitch myself back together. Just to find out what's underneath. Does that make sense?" Bucky nodded. It made too much sense, and he thought this was her way of trying to explain to him what she'd meant when she'd taken his arm and pulled him down and whispered in his ear, dreaming out loud. She sighed again and looked up at him, resting her good hand on his cheek and kissing him sadly. He kissed her back and when she pulled away, she was stroking his face and she broke into a small smile.

"I wonder if you're growing a beard, Mr. Barnes," she teased and he smiled and took her hand and pressed her palm as gently as he could to his cheek just to feel her there.

"Guess I'm getting distracted," he replied. "I've got a girlfriend in the hospital, you know. It's very stressful." He smiled and teased further. "Besides, don't women think stubble is, I dunno, edgy?"

"Very edgy," she giggled. "Very sexy. Mmm." He kissed her palm.

"I've been meaning to shave," he mentioned and instead of answering, she just looked at him. She picked up her other hand and rested it on his chest and it wasn't possible to get much closer to him, so she sat there and studied his face, her small smile beginning to fade into her thoughts, whatever they may be.

"You start to wonder," she said in a whispery voice as she looked into his eyes and he knew she was referring to herself. "If the thing you've dedicated your life to is what you really want." Bucky struggled to keep up, feeling anxious uncertainty. She must mean the Black Widow, he thought, and he squeezed her a little tighter.

"You're a little young to be having a midlife crisis, Talia," he said, trying to joke, trying to lighten the mood, but his voice was hollow. Neither of them laughed.

"Having killed people adds a few years," Natalia replied immediately and Bucky felt a shiver run through his body. He swallowed and responded a little late, his voice breaking.

"Yeah, it does," he replied.


	51. 51 a cell in the Red Room years ago

51 [a cell in the Red Room years ago]

Natalia thought that it would be impossible to cry more than she already had. She must have run out of tears. She must be a well gone dry. Even if a hundred more tragic things were to happen to her, she would have nothing to draw on and her tears had all been used up.

She sat now with a shackle attached to her wrist and behind bars, her eyes red, but dry. She stared at the ground and all she could hear anymore was the way James screamed and the blankness in his eyes when he looked at her. After they'd scrubbed her out of his mind.

She'd been dragged out as soon as they began to wipe him for the second time in a row, kicking and screaming, and they'd thrown her into a cell to be dealt with later and Natalia had curled up there, devastated. She stayed there alone for nearly a day.

"Ah, Natty…," she heard a familiar disappointed voice and she looked up to see Ivan Petrovitch standing outside the bars of the cell, his hands in his pockets, looking in. He was frowning at her.

Oh, Natalia realized when a flood of emotion swept her up. She'd been wrong. It was certainly possible to cry again, and she looked down quickly, trying to blink away the stinging in her eyes. Under Ivan's eyes, she felt like she was five years old again, sitting in a corner for misbehaving. No one could make her feel so ashamed as Ivan could. It was as though, Natalia realized later, her love for him had been weaponized against her.

"What have you gotten yourself into, child?" Ivan said.

"You haven't called me Natty in years," Natalia said. She hadn't heard that childish nickname since she was sixteen, maybe younger, and now she was twenty-one and feeling particularly traumatized. She heard clinking of keys and the cell door open and close again and then Ivan was sitting next to her.

"Give me your wrist," he said and she offered it to him shamefully. He took her hand and unlocked the shackle and tossed it to the ground and Natalia used her now free hand to wipe hot tears off her cheeks. They sat there for a while in silence.

"I don't understand," Ivan said. "The _Winter Soldier_? Of all the men to kiss and all the monsters to tangle with, you choose him?" Natalia glared at the ground and took a deep breath and at first, she didn't know how to respond because Ivan's comment had made her so angry, and suddenly, she was just angry with everything. It was that sudden falling fast moment where pain and sorrow warp into rage and she felt herself bottled up with it.

"I wanted him," Natalia said through gritted teeth. "They took him from me and killed him because I wanted him."

"Oh, Natalia," Ivan said and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "That's not true."

"Then why couldn't I…," Natalia trailed off and she remembered him in her arms, blood everywhere, pressing her forehead to his and crying. She pressed her mouth together in a line and told herself, _no more tears_.

Ivan sighed and shifted.

"He's not exactly a man, Natalia," Ivan said. "He's not a person. He's more of a, well…" Ivan thought for a minute. "A tool, I suppose. And he's dangerous. He may have seemed innocent enough to you-how, I can't imagine-but he is _not _innocent. We separated you for your own safety, child." Ivan squeezed Natalia gently, but she swallowed hard and looked away from him angrily. "And besides, he's not even dead."

Natalia looked up now, stunned. What?

"He's alive, but he's somewhere you'll never find him again, alright?" Ivan continued sternly. "He is not yours. He belongs to the Red Room." Natalia scooted herself out of Ivan's hug and pressed herself against the wall. She felt anger she couldn't put a name on. Ivan kept talking now, as though he were pleading with her. "Natalia…," he said quietly. "He was barely even human-"

"He was completely human and I wanted him," she spat, cutting into Ivan's words, irate.

"You have to sacrifice things, Natalia," Ivan said.

"His name was James!" Natalia cried and looked over at Ivan and furious tears began to spill down her cheeks. "He had a name! He wasn't a thing!"

Ivan's face hardened and Natalia watched his jaw tick as he ground his teeth in frustration. When he spoke again, it was in a growl.

"If you let anyone know that you know more about that man than that," Ivan said. "You will be killed." He jumped to his feet. "I'm trying to protect you!"

Natalia stared at him and suddenly, something clicked. She stared.

"You," she said slowly. "You told them to take him. It was you."

"Now don't you do anything irrational, Natalia," Ivan said threateningly, but that was all the confirmation Natalia needed.

"You made me _watch_," she breathed. "You made me watch them torture him."

"You were becoming distracted," Ivan said. "That Winter Soldier wasn't good for you."

Here, Natalia realized she had a choice. Her first instinct was to stand as well, to argue with him, to shout, to demand that James be brought to her and his mind restored to him, but her self control told her to wait. The second choice seemed smarter. She needn't yell, she needn't let on how much Ivan had crushed her. She let the weight of his betrayal sit instead, and she was silent for a long time before Ivan spoke again.

"You don't need boyfriends, Natalia," he told her.

"He made me happy," she whispered. "He made me happy." She looked up at him, and half of her felt weak, afraid, heartbroken, and the other half of her was all rage that wanted to cut him to the bone with her words. "You should have seen his face, Ivan. The way he looked at me. No one's…" She stopped herself and then finished slowly. "No one's ever looked at me the way he did…"

This was the exact moment, down to the second, that Natalia realized Ivan did not love her.

"And no one will again, child, and for that you should be grateful," Ivan said, talking over Natalia's inner, heartbroken epiphany. "You don't need the Winter Soldier of all things to make you happy. You are going to be the Black Widow! You are on the top of the charts, and the time to bestow the title is soon. _Then_, you will be happy and you will forget all about that monster of a man."

You're right, Ivan, Natalia thought, and a bitter hatred grew in her heart. There's a monster here I ought to forget. But it isn't James.


	52. 52 St Petersburg

52 [St. Petersburg]

Natalia Romanova had not seen Ivan in years. After she had become the Black Widow, he had spoken with her less and less and she knew it was mostly because she had started to remove him from her life. She found it hard at first to stop loving Ivan Petrovitch, because it was complicated and unloving someone is hard and sometimes she was made to feel guilty about it, as though his mistakes had been her fault, but she knew she _never _wanted to see him again and she was adamant. Cutting him out was one of the most painful things Natalia Romanova had done to date and sometimes, the pain grew so unbearable that she'd have trouble trying to hide her tears in public when he was mentioned in conversation.

And Natalia stopped thinking about and wishing for happiness. It was silly. It was for children. It was a fairytale. And she didn't believe in it anymore. So she stopped asking herself if she was happy, until one night in St Petersburg when she met Clint Barton.

It was a mission. An assassination. She didn't remember who she was killing. It didn't matter. He was some high-class aristocrat that had made someone angry and she hardly bothered to remember his name, even then. After all, she didn't really like knowing who she killed. It was something of a weakness of hers, a quirk, but she worked around it well. She did what she had to do. She got the job done, and very, very well.

Which was why she was so surprised when she was caught, and not even by a man with a _gun_. But by one with arrows.

The first one hit her in the leg from behind, thankfully above her knee, and she didn't know when she fell whether that was because the archer was unskillful or because he didn't want to hurt her too badly. But regardless, she hit the ground and the arrow snapped and she looked down at her thigh, stunned. She was the Black Widow. She needed her thighs. Her combat revolved around the strength in her legs! She began to scoot herself behind her target's bed, hiding herself from where she'd seen the arrow come from, and she ripped out the end. She could hear her target stirring and seethed. The mission might be compromised. She could potentially fail if she didn't find this second agent soon.

Then, from behind her again, another arrow. She felt it pierce her other leg and sink in and she gasped. "No," she breathed, both stunned and devastated and sucked in a desperate, pained breath.

"Ricochet arrows!" Someone cried. "I can get you from anywhere if I can bounce the arrows off something." A man's voice. She looked up and around and the target started to sit up, started to yell. A man came out of the shadows, Natalia's mysterious archer, and he approached the screaming target. "Hop up," he told him. "There's a car out front, get in it."

"What?" Natalia cried. But the target was already fleeing. Desperate, Natalia pulled herself painfully to her knees and drew a gun and pointed-and found the barrel pointed at the torso of the archer. She looked up to see an arrow being drawn directly at her forehead. The archer stared at her for a second, and she at him.

"Looks like we're at an impasse," he said calmly while the target escaped behind him, and Natalia watched, dismayed. She watched him disappear into the dark and she collapsed back onto her butt, relieving the pressure on the wounds and arrow bits sticking out of her legs, and looked up hatefully at the archer. She kept her gun cocked and pointed.

"You ruined my mission," she hissed. "You came here to save him?" The archer smiled a little and then shook his head. Natalia frowned. "What?" She said. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm actually here to kill _you_," the archer replied and Natalia stared. "Don't know so much about the other guy, 'cept that you probably shouldn't be killing him. I'm just here to dispatch the Black Widow."

"Good luck," she replied venomously. "I can't be simply killed."

"Didn't say it'd be simple," the archer said and he was still staring at her, looking directly into her eyes. She glared at him. Speaking English, with an American accent. Blonde and blue eyed and sort of cute, like a puppy. He had a kindness in his eyes and suddenly, she found herself staring, too.

"Who are you?" She asked. "You're American."

"I'm a SHIELD agent," he replied, his arrow still drawn to sink into her skull as they made small talk. "They call me Hawkeye."

"Why?" She asked and he grinned a little.

"I'm the world's best archer. Got the best aim of anyone alive," he said. "Why do they call you the Black Widow?"

"Because I'm the deadliest person to come out of the Red Room," Natalia replied.

"Wow," Hawkeye said and nodded, duly impressed. "It's a shame I'll have to kill you."

"No, Hawkeye," she said. "It's a real shame I'll have to kill you." Then, she released the trigger and started to roll away from Hawkeye's bow frantically. She heard her bullet hit and Hawkeye cry out and wondered a little, with her movement, where exactly the bullet sank. Upper chest? Stomach? She wasn't able to get very far, still trying to climb to her feet, when an arrow pierced her shoulder, then her other shoulder, and then Hawkeye yelled.

"The next one's for your heart!" He shouted at her. "Stop immediately!" Natalia froze, one leg up and the other still resting on her knee, and she turned her head a little to see him. Bullet somewhere in his ribs, given the blood staining him was any indication. That was pretty good. He'd need medical attention to live.

However, Natalia noticed that she would not. None of the fired arrows by this 'best archer in the world' were deadly. In fact, she could take them all out and treat them herself on her own time and she'd most certainly live. He was sparing her. What was he doing.

"Alright," she said and she would have raised her hands for effect, but the arrows caught around her shoulders blades made the task a little harder, so she just dropped her legs again and dropped her hands. "You've got me, Hawkeye." She looked at his wound and then back up at his puppy dog face, wincing from the pain.

"Come with me," Hawkeye said and Natalia looked at him, stunned.

"What?" She said.

"Come with me," Hawkeye repeated himself and she watched his bow lower just a little. He was looking at her. "Don't make me kill you, okay? Let me save you." Natalia scoffed.

"_Save_ me?" She said. "Who do you think you are?"

"Just tryin' to help," Hawkeye said and his voice cracked as he winced again, but he couldn't remove his hands from his bow to put pressure on his gunshot wound.

"Then you might as well shoot me, Hawkeye," Natalia said to him.

"My name's Clint," he said and Natalia shrugged.

"I don't care. I don't trust you and I'm not going with you, so you ought to just shoot me," she replied immediately. Clint stared at her for a minute.

"Deadliest person in Russia," he choked. "You like that then?" Natalia raised an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean, do I like that?" She asked and Clint shrugged a little.

"Figure you do it cause you like it," he said. "Does it make you happy?"

Natalia thought instantly of dancing and of Ivan and of James, whom she had tried not to think of for little over a year, and she frowned deeply.

"Why are you asking me?" She asked. "Happiness is irrelevant and there are more important things. I've learned that the hard way."

"More important things than happiness?" Clint said and shook his head. "I dunno about that."

"Who told you that?" Natalia asked sharply. "It's a lie. Everything that will make you happy will be taken away, so why bother chasing it."

"I could make you happy," Clint said quietly and Natalia stared. He lowered his bow completely now, putting his arrow back in the quiver behind him and dropping his bow and putting both hands over the wound in his ribs, groaning. He dropped to his knees across the room, eye-level with her. "You're beautiful, Black Widow," he said to her gently. His face was going white from bloodloss. "You look like the most miserable person I've ever seen and that's just not fair. I've read up on you, Black Widow. You oughta get a chance." Carefully, because everything in her was telling her it was a trap except for those pained blue eyes, Natalia scooted closer to him.

"Natalia," she whispered to him, and when he started to fall, she scooted even closer and caught him. "Come on, sit up," she said. "Don't act like this is the worst bullet you've ever taken. It's just in your ribs."

"Natalia?" Clint asked and Natalia shrugged.

"Congratulations," she said. "You have my name."

"But do I have _you_?" He asked her, looking up and Natalia couldn't believe what she was doing, sitting there cradling the enemy in her arms. She remembered James and thought maybe it wasn't the first time she'd done something similar. She was a sucker for puppy dog eyes and sweet voices, she thought.

"No one's ever seemed to care if I was happy or not," she told him. "The woman under the Black Widow goes unseen. That's what they taught me."

"They were wrong," Clint replied.

A few minutes later, when Clint was on his feet, he took Natalia out of the building in handcuffs and put her in the backseat with him, and sat next to her while the former target in the front seat protested and the SHIELD driver took off. And all the while back to the hospital base, Natalia talked to Clint and helped him put pressure on his wound and wondered to herself if anyone could ever love her.


	53. 53 hospital room

53 [hospital room]

Clint looked dead. He had bags under his eyes and his shoulders slumped and his smile was too slow. He didn't glow anymore and Natasha didn't know what happened to her sweet archer as she sat in the hospital room alone with him, studying his face. He looked at her and let out a tired breath and offered a smile.

"What are you gonna do if Steve and I go back?" He asked. "You don't really want us gone that badly, do you?"

"Clint, I want to handle it," she replied and frowned. "It's complicated and it's something I have to do-"

"Alone?" Clint interrupted and she could hear the resentment in him. "You're keeping Barnes with you," he accused.

"That's not what I was going to say," she said. "I just mean it's something I have to do and you're not a part of it, is all."

"Fair enough," Clint replied and he looked down at the ground, hunching with his forearms on his knees and his knees spread apart. Natasha searched him and read his language, not sure what to say.

"Things aren't like they were before," she said quietly, as much for her own sake as for his, and he shifted a little and let out a breath.

"Tell me about it," he grumbled.

"I love you, Clint," Natasha continued. "You're my best friend." Clint looked up at her now and she could have been mistaken, but it looked as though he was blinking away tears from his tired eyes.

"Where did I go wrong?" He asked quietly and she swallowed.

"Aren't you happy to be my friend?" She asked and Clint made a face.

"Of course, of course, but Tash… I just wonder," he admitted.

"No questions," she replied after a long moment. "Remember? No questions."

Clint looked at her.

"Is that a warning or an answer?" He asked.

"Maybe it's both," she replied.

_With this chapter, _To Go Unseen_ has now reached 60,000 words. :) -BlitheBells_


	54. 54 hotel room

54 [hotel room]

"So where are we gonna go next?" Steve asked and Bucky stared up at the ceiling tiredly and shrugged. "What's the plan? California? New York? Alaska?"

Bucky dug anxious circles into his palm with his metal thumb, pressing his fingers in deeper and deeper into the middle of his hand until he was wincing.

"It's not a 'we'," he replied.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked. "I'm coming with you." Bucky smiled a little and looked over at Steve.

"You think Natalia would let you?" He asked and Steve stood up from the other hotel bed where he'd been sitting and started to pace. Bucky looked back up at the ceiling. He shifted his fingers, rubbing in between his knuckles now.

"I think I can help," Steve protested and Bucky sighed.

"I know," he said, and then frowned. "But honestly, I don't know if you can." He didn't look over to see Steve whirl around.

"What do you mean?" He asked and Bucky pushed himself wearily into a sitting position.

"I mean, this goes deeper than throwing a few punches," he said. "You've seen Natalia, you've heard her. This is something deep, this is about something inside her, okay? It's just as much about Yelena as it isn't." Bucky leaned over his knees and threw his hands up. "Belova, she's just a springboard for this whole thing. She's set off something bigger than herself."

"Well, sure," Steve said and put his hands on his hips, his shoulders back. "But it still would help a lot if she was out of the picture, right?" Bucky shrugged again and looked up at Steve.

"I really don't know," he said. "Yes? No?"

"Couldn't hurt," Steve offered quietly and Bucky laughed bitterly and nodded.

"We hope," he said and he stared up at Steve with tired eyes. "I don't understand her anymore. I don't get it." He swallowed, his eyes searching Steve's face as though an answer lay there. "Used to think she and I were, I dunno, matches. Just alike. Something like you and me, but lately, we're not fitting together. I look at her and it's like I'm seeing someone else." Bucky covered his face with his hands and groaned. He felt the bed creak and bend beside him as Steve sat close and felt an arm slung around his shoulder. He took his hands away to take a breath and realized he was gasping. His eyes began to itch with tears. "Maybe Barton was right, Steve, maybe I don't get her. Maybe I screwed something up and I'll just be another guy to disappear into her non-existent past."

"That's not true, that won't happen, Buck," Steve tried to say and Bucky looked away.

"I love her," he said and his voice cracked with tears. "And I feel like I'm watching it all go away. She's hurting inside and there's nothing I can do, it's tearing me apart. She won't even open up to me, won't even explain."

"I know, I know," Steve said.

"I don't know what to do," Bucky exclaimed. Then, across the room, the door opened and Clint walked back in. He hesitated in the doorway, looking up at Bucky and Steve, and he looked uncomfortable.

"I'm, uh, interrupting something," he said and Bucky sighed and shook his head.

"Nothing you didn't already know," he said. "I feel like I'm losing Nat."

"Oh," Clint said and he turned his face to the ground and shut the door behind him and approached the bed, leaning up against the wall in front of it. "Yeah." Then, "I want it to work out for you guys."

"Me, too," Bucky said.

"Can I give you, I dunno, I guess some advice?" Clint asked after a second and Bucky looked at him.

"I asked you for advice once and it didn't really work out," he replied and Clint made a face.

"I'm amending my previous statements," he said and and avoided Bucky's eyes, looking at the carpet at scuffing the toe of his shoe on a stain. Steve, still hugging Bucky close with one arm, watched them both quietly.

"Alright," Bucky agreed and Clint was quiet for another moment, as though he was pulling his thoughts together.

"Nat and I, we were… It was like we were too close," he said, and Bucky waited patiently for him to explain. "Everything was just off. The timing was wrong and we were too alike and whatever was there, whatever either of us wanted, it changed after a while." He met Bucky's eyes for a moment then. "But I think if things were different, well…" He shrugged. "Well, things would have been different. Maybe we would have been close in the way you two are close now and a lot of things screwed us over, Barnes, but, um, her secrets? They didn't help." Clint moved now, and bent down to crouch on the ground, as though he knew he'd be there talking for a while and he wanted to get comfortable. He spoke quietly, like he were imparting great secrets, and Bucky listened carefully. "We both know how to shove people away. That's what it was. All we wanted was to be intimate and all we knew how to do was be left alone. That's what those secrets are, that's what they do. She told me she wanted to put things behind her and I let her, but it was more than that because she totally cut me out." Clint shifted now, and let out a breath, a half-laugh, and raised his voice suddenly, as though he wanted to lighten the mood. "I keep going on and on and on. The, uh, the point I'm trying to make is, don't let her cut you out. Don't let her keep you out of the things that mean something to her."

Bucky wasn't sure what to do now with this advice because that was something he'd been trying to do for as long as they'd known each other and so far, it hadn't really been working. He couldn't force her to talk, he couldn't convince her not to lie. Now, he was afraid, having seen Clint and heard from him. Would the same thing happen to him and Natalia?

"Thank you, Clint," he said finally, because he really was grateful, and Clint on the floor, pressing his back against the wall, just nodded quietly.

_I've been having some real issues uploading documents and that's part of the reason this chapter is so unusually late. :( I'm working it out! Thanks for sticking with me! -BB_


	55. 55 hotel room

55 [hotel room]

The next day, Natasha was released from the hospital and Steve and Clint got on a plane to leave and James was quiet. Natasha kept looking at him, kept thinking about her conversation with Clint and she didn't want to see James fade. She didn't want to watch herself push him away anymore, but she didn't know how to open up. She remembered telling Clint 'no questions' and seeing the darkness fall inside his eyes when he asked if that was the answer to his question anyway.

What went wrong?

No questions.

Natasha felt sick fear in the pit of her stomach as the implications of this realization washed over her.

No one likes being a mystery. That's who the Black Widow was, she was a ghost and she was an empty face to put masks over and she was the kind of woman who everyone knew about, but no one really knew. Natasha didn't like it. She didn't like being alone, but she couldn't just stop being the Black Widow. She would never do that. It was the only identity she knew.

"I was thinking we could rent another car," James said to her once he got her back to the hotel. She didn't need a lot of help-after all, she'd only suffered a broken nose and splintered wrist in addition to the bruises. She could walk, but James had his hands on her and was leading her anyway. He was excessively gentle with one arm around her waist, his fingertips barely grazing her as though he were afraid if he really touched her, she'd collapse or disappear. "Go somewhere else, keep moving until we come up with another plan."

"Sure," Natasha replied, and would have reached around him to put her arm on him as well, but he was on her right side with her splintered wrist, so instead, he reached up and took her hand gently with his free one. "You know, you don't have so gentle. I'm not fragile." She remembered a small set of porcelain ballerina figurines she kept at home, and how James had almost dropped one once. The look on his face as he'd thrust it back into her hands, so apologetic, so ashamed. "I'm not made out of porcelain." She looked up into James' face and he seemed to be considering something to say next and she added, "I'm not going anywhere." His eyes shifted and met hers, and then he looked away again, back at the ground, and his fingers around hers tightened almost imperceptibly.

"I know," he said, but he was a bad liar, as usual, and his voice caught. She didn't know what to say, and so she just looked ahead and said nothing.

Later that evening, a heavy silence and a thick tension had settled over them both and Natasha didn't know what had happened. She kept looking at James and thinking that she was going to have to try to be open with him, tell him everything she'd never told anyone before, and it scared her.

"Where do you want to go?" James asked her, pulling her from her thoughts and she looked over at him from where she was seated on the hotel bed. I want to go home, she thought. I want to sleep in my own bed again. I want this whole nightmare to be over.

"I don't care," she said.

"Steve suggested Alaska earlier," James started to say and Natasha cut him off, making a face.

"Oh, not Alaska," she said.

"I thought you said you didn't care," James replied.

"I don't care!" She cried in return, probably sounding like she cared very much. "But just, not Alaska."

"Alright, fine," He said. "Why?"

"Does it matter?" She asked, feeling more and more irritable the more he tried to be friendly and accomodating. How dare he be so kind and perfect?

"I guess not," James said, shrinking back a little. "Just, I dunno, making conversation. Didn't mean to step on Black Widow trademark secrets." Oh, _now_ he was going to be sassy?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Natasha said.

"I didn't mean anything," James said. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

"Yeah, it did," Natasha replied angrily and they lapsed into silence. James turned back around in his chair and stared at the desk. She heard him let out a small breath.

"What about, uh, California?" He said after a while.

"Quit asking me, just pick already," Natasha snapped and she regretted it as soon as she saw his shoulders slump, but she'd been regretting this entire conversation the minute it started. She wished she could stop making biting remarks and sounding mean, but the fear inside her jumped up her throat and clawed as soon as it saw an opportunity. She was just afraid, she thought.

I just know… I know I'm going to have to give up portions of myself. Stop being the mysterious Black Widow and start being just Natasha and I'm not sure I know who that is.

"Okay, I got us plane tickets for tomorrow," James said and he twisted the chair around and looked at her. "Okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said, but James was still looking at her.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked.

"No," she said.

"You don't seem very happy," he said.

"Why would I be happy," she replied and he shrugged.

"I guess you have a point," he admitted. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No," Natasha said, and the rest of the evening was spent in terse quiet, the TV on and muted and Natasha staring up at the ceiling. And when James turned out the lights and and joined her in bed, she watched him curl up next to her and doze off and she studied the angles of his face.


	56. 56 on the way to California

56 [on the way to California]

In the morning, the tension hadn't dissipated. They boarded their plane and slowly, the more they spoke, the worse the arguing became. James was becoming irritable as well and before Natasha knew it, they were both fuming.

They found another hotel (probably the millionth one at this point, Natasha had lost count) and James leaned against the wall and folded his arms and stared at his feet and Natasha sat herself back down on the bed.

"All these places look the same," she said.

"This place was expensive," James replied.

"I'm just saying," she said defensively.

"Well, I was just saying, too," James said.

"What is it with you and money," Natasha grumbled. "I just meant I'm sick of hotel rooms."

"We're both sick of them," James said. "And what do you mean, what is it with me and money? I actually grew up during the Great Depression! I was raised to be frugal, you know."

"Believe me, I know," Natasha said.

"And what is it with _you_ and money?" James kept going. She watched him throw his hands up in the air, but he refused to look at her. "We don't actually make that much."

"We make enough to get by," Natasha said.

"Yeah, get by," James replied frustratedly. "This doesn't count as just getting by. This counts as several weeks of expensive travel from one corner of America to the next every other day. And hospitals and food and clothes. I've saved up the receipts, you know, and it's steep!"

"Then just throw the receipts away!" Natasha growled and James let out a breath and he finally looked over at her.

"This isn't my fault," he said angrily and she stared at him.

"I didn't say it _was_," she said, and then stopped and frowned. "But wait, are you saying it's my fault?"

"What?" James said.

"I didn't plan this, you know," she said.

"I know that," he said. "I didn't say it was your fault."

"Then why are we talking about whose fault it is?" She cried.

"I don't know!" James cried back. They were both beginning to raise their voices. "Why are we talking at all?!"

"Cause maybe we're supposed to _enjoy_ talking to each other!" Natasha replied.

They should have stopped then, Natasha realized later. They should have stopped talking.

"You don't enjoy talking to me?" James said, looking offended.

"Not now, I don't," Natasha said and she watched James' face go hard.

"Well you aren't that easy to talk to either," he accused. "Half of anything I say could trigger some sort of explosion with you, but I have no idea what because you won't tell me anything!"

"I wasn't talking about in general, James, I was talking about right at this second," Natasha said and she glared at him. "Do you really think that? What explosions, what are you even talking about?! I've never blown up at you!"

"That's literally what you're doing right now," James said and Natasha ground her teeth together.

"No," she disagreed. "This is _you_ blowing up at _me_."

"So it _is_ my fault," James cried.

"Yes!" Natasha yelled, even though she didn't mean it and she wasn't even entirely sure what they were assigning blame to in the first place. She assumed it was their entire hellish road trip experience. "It is all your fault!"

James sputtered.

"That is absolutely not true!" He cried. "This is Belova, this is YOUR problem! These are your lies!"

"It's my fault we got attacked?" Natasha said.

"Yes," James said. He was standing up from off the wall now, crossing his arms tighter across his chest as though he was trying to shield himself and every muscle in his body was tense. She was on the edge of the bed, poised to jump up, and she did now, even if just to get up in his face and push him backwards.

"Maybe I could have dealt with it by now if I hadn't had to deal with YOU," she said. "You're so needy and mopey all the time! I have to drag you everywhere and hold your damn hand!"

"That's what friends are supposed to be for!" James cried. "You're supposed to be my emotional support! And I'm supposed to be yours! And we're not supposed to complain about it!"

"I'm not even allowed to complain?!" Natasha scoffed.

"No!" James cried. "Because you're supposed to love me! That is literally the whole point!"

"You've got this idea in your head," Natasha replied. "That all the people you surround yourself with are absolutely perfect and can handle everything you throw at them! Well we're not! And you are exhausting!"

He let out a breath and his jaw ticked and he glared.

"You lie to me," James retorted after having taken a breath back in, hardly taking a second to absorb the blow before he came back with another one. "All the time! You don't tell me the most basic of things, you're secretive to a fault! You say you don't know who you are and hell, I don't either!"

Natasha's mouth dropped and she balled her hands into fists.

Don't hit him, don't hit him, she chanted to herself in her head. But a second later, her fist was flying through the air to connect with his jaw. He stumbled back, his hand on his face and when he looked up at her, she recognized for an instant that kicked puppy look he wore sometimes, like the anger had been forgotten for half a second in favor of sweet, heartbroken James.

"You hit me!" He cried and his face hardened again into anger. No more puppy dog eyes. "You _hit_ me?"

There was another tense second where they both stood there, glaring at each other, frozen and stiff, and then it broke as they both dove for each other and tumbled to the ground. Natasha kept her right wrist in to her chest and her face out of James' reach and kneed him powerfully in the gut. She could tell he couldn't breathe, but he didn't stop and he retaliated, socking her in the stomach with his knuckles.

They rolled back and forth on the ground, landing fists and knees. She wasn't sure whether they were being careful with each other or not because his blows hurt and she knew hers did too, but she never saw his left fist anywhere near her and he never once went for her old injuries. More than once, she could have dropped him and wrapped her thighs around his neck and she never took the opportunity.

Natasha got leverage on the ground underneath him and braced herself and then kicked back at James with all she had, feeling her feet land on his chest and hear his surprised, breathless grunt. She whirled around to watch him fly at the back wall and hit the television set, smacking his head on the screen. It shattered and glass exploded out as James collapsed to the ground in a heap.

She sat there for a second and stared, her mouth open, waiting for James to move.

In her head, she cursed herself. What had she done?! What had they both done?

It was her fault, it was all her fault. She'd been afraid, she'd been avoiding making herself vulnerable and in her fear, she'd turned to violence and she'd hurt him.

James lay still, surrounded by glass, his face in the carpet, and she was starting to see red underneath his hair on the back of his head. Tears pricked at her eyes. He was fine! After all, they'd both been pulling their punches and he was superhuman so they were both just fine.

She started to crawl towards him.

"James?" She whispered and her voice broke.

Thoughts attacked her. Even if he was fine, she wouldn't be because this was the end of it. This was another person she loved and had ruined everything with. He'd look her in the eyes and tell her that maybe she ought to get her own apartment, somewhere far away from his, and maybe they should be not friends, but maybe acquaintances.

She grabbed his body, even forced herself to grab him with her right hand, where pain made her wince, and pulled him over to her, gripping him to her chest.

"James," she said again quietly. "James?" His eyes were closed, he wasn't moving. She placed a hand on his mouth and felt an exhale and tears rolled down her cheeks and she pressed her face to his.

She was reminded of another time when she held him in her lap, his blood pooling and he looked at her and begged her to save him. She remembered being dragged away, watching him scream when they'd wiped his mind. She hadn't wanted to be reminded of that and before she knew it, she was sobbing loudly and squeezing him.

Someone was going to call security, she thought in the back of her mind. They sure got kicked out of a lot of hotels.

Then, James groaned a little and opened his eyes and she wanted to say something, but she was still sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe.

"You couldn't have saved that one for Belova?" He slurred and tried to smile a little so she knew he was kidding, but it didn't help. His arms came up around her and he pushed himself up a little and rubbed the back of his head, coming away with a hand spotted with blood. She sat next to him, her knees up and her hands covering her face. "Talia, I'm fine," he said to her and she felt him wrap his arms around her again and squeeze her. "Look, I'm just a little cut, I blacked out for maybe five seconds; I'm fine. I've lived through a lot worse."

"I love you," Natasha sobbed. "I'm sorry. I love you."

"I love you, too," James said. "I'm sorry, too!"

"I'll tell you now, alright?" She said. "I'll tell you!" James was quiet for a moment.

"Alright," he said. "I'm here to listen."


	57. 57 California

57 [California]

They cleaned up the mess on the floor and Natasha inspected the cuts on the back of James' head and decided that he'd be fine and he swore it didn't hurt, but she could tell by the way he rubbed his temple that it'd given him a headache. And once she'd stopped crying, they sat there together with the sunlight coming in from the window and Natasha gathering the courage she needed to try and not be the Black Widow.

A few hours later, she spoke again, curled up in James' arms under all the blankets they had, both of them attempting to cuddle away their fight.

"Did you know I was an orphan?" She finally said and James was quiet.

"No," he said.

"My parents died when I was an infant," Natasha continued. No emotions, she told herself. Push them all away. "No one ever told me what happened, I had to dig it up myself. Turns out, it was a fire."

"That's terrible, I'm so sorry," James murmured into her hair. She was holding both his hands, slowly taking his gloves off while she spoke.

"You know, you're the first person to know that," she said as she peeled back the black leather on his left hand, leaving it to glitter in the light, and she kissed his knuckles.

"I am?" He said and she smiled a little.

"Do you feel special, James?" She teased.

"Actually, yes, I do," James replied and she could hear a triumphant smile in his voice.

"Good; you should," she said. "I love you, you know."

"I love you, too," James replied. Natasha kept talking.

"I was raised by a man named Ivan," she said and then stopped. It was the next logical thing to talk about, but the words were catching in her throat.

So instead, she took his other hand and pulled his glove off finger by finger methodically and then wove her fingers in with his.

"And?" James said after a while.

"He was not a good man, James," Natasha said. No emotions. None. She forced on herself a stony face. "You knew him."

"I did?" He sounded incredulous.

"You don't remember," she told him. She felt his chest behind her rise with breath.

"Oh, no," he said. "Was he involved with-"

"Yes." Natasha cut him off. She didn't quite want him to say it. "I hadn't thought it important enough to mention when I told you our story. Or, no…," she turned to him now, so she could see his face, and she rested her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. "No, James, I'm sorry, I wanted to keep it because telling you his name would have leaked many of my secrets." He only nodded.

"Go on," he said.

"I loved him," Natasha said and she turned back to their hands and began to weave her right fingers in with his left ones. The metal was warm on her skin. "Ivan Petrovich. I always wanted him to be my father. I always wanted him to be proud of me. James, I'd thought… I'd thought if I did well enough in the Red Room, did well enough in the Black Widow program, he might love me, too. He might be proud of me." Their hands in front of her were becoming blurry and she blinked fiercely.

"Oh, Natalia…," James breathed and she could feel his exhale rustle her hair and when she breathed in again, she realized it was with a thick lump in her chest and she gasped. Oh, no. She was going to cry. She was already so exhausted from having cried earlier.

"I've never told anyone this, James!" She said and she didn't mean it to sound exclamatory, but it did. "I haven't even said his name aloud in years!" James only squeezed her. "But he didn't love me and it took me such a long time to realize that. It took me _you_ to realize that."

"What do you mean?" James asked.

"I'm getting there," she told him. "When we were children, all the girls in the program had to endure pain tolerance training. It was just torture, that's all it was, torture on little children who had to learn not to cry. But that's not the worst part James, because Ivan told me I should be thankful!" She scoffed now, suddenly angry, and she squeezed his hands. He silently squeezed back. "Told me that the torment would help me one day, and I would be thankful one day, so I told the man who should have been my father 'thank you' for standing aside while they hurt me." She swallowed. "I tell you this, James, because I want you to know that's the kind of relationship we had. That's the kind of person he was.

"I don't remember when I started training as a ballerina, but I started young. I loved it. He told me it wasn't important, but when I was dancing…," Natasha rubbed her thumbs absentmindedly on the back of James' hands. "I was never more happy than those days in the studio and on the stage, lacing up flats.

"And that was my life for years. Training and dancing and learning how to hurt people. Wishing I could impress Ivan. And I was never happy. And then I met you." A smile grew across her face and she turned just enough to see him. "You were the strangest person I'd ever met in my entire life, and you terrified all of the girls in the compound. So, of course, I had to have you." James grinned a little.

"Of course," he replied back to her teasing and she stretched up and kissed his chin. "Who doesn't want that. Dream guy, right? Strange and terrifying."

"Oh, stop," Natasha said. "You were also incredibly hot and mysterious, does that make you feel better?"

"Loads," James said and she laughed.

"We really hit it off. I know I don't talk about it much, but…," she sighed. "Wow, James. You were really something else. And I was so intrigued. But then, Ivan found out that I was digging into information about you, which was strictly prohibited, you can imagine, and I was spending more time daydreaming about you than actually working, and so he cut us off from each other. I wasn't allowed to train with you anymore and weeks later, you burst into the compound screaming with handlers on your heels like it was the end of the world. It took bullets to separate us," Natasha said and her smile was falling fast. "And punishment. And two incredibly painful mind wipes that practically killed you. But I'd looked at you and thought, how wonderful you seem. I had such a crush and you made me so happy. That's what confused me, I suppose, in the end. How could Ivan do those things to you if you were so perfect? And how could he do them to me, when I had been so happy? When I thought I could have loved you." She sighed. "I guess that's when I realized he didn't love me. He didn't want me to be happy and he was horrible and…" She swallowed and James pulled his arms around her and squeezed her tight. She felt his lips in her hair as he kissed her. She let the sentence die.

"I was named the Black Widow after that," she told him. "I went around doing so much damage, causing so much hurt. Clint helped me get over that, when he found me and thought he could save me. He asked me if I was happy and I hadn't asked myself that in so long. My heart was so broken so many times over." She stopped for a second and started again. "James, you have to swear you'll still think I'm emotionless and mysterious and powerful after I've told you all this," she said in a teasing voice and she felt his laughter in his chest.

"I'll tell no one you're an actual human being with feelings," he teased back. "Cross my heart." Grinning and rolling her eyes, she turned again and took her hands back to put one on his shoulder for balance and the other on his cheek and kissed him on the mouth.

When she pulled away, he leaned forward and stole a few more quick, teasing pecks off her lips until she turned around completely, straddling him on her knees and she put one finger over his mouth.

"Talking now," she said with a smile. "Kissing later. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Barnes. I'm an open book. The stars have aligned and this will never happen again in your lifetime."

"I have a record length lifetime," James told her with a flirting grin and kissed the finger she'd pressed to his lips as though just to spite her. "Given my history, I might be around for another century or two."

"Exactly," Natasha said and he only rolled his eyes. She settled back down into the sheets with him and put his arm around her shoulders, folded her legs, and continued. "So, in conclusion," she said. "My entire life and identity was shaped around the existence of the Black Widow and there's never really been anyone beneath that. The end."

"The end?" James said.

"The end," Natasha repeated.

"That's kinda clinical," he said.

"And they all lived miserably ever after," Natasha said and James snorted.

"Now you're just being sarcastic," he said. "Look, that stuff you told me?" He turned a little to look at her face. "That was really messed up. And I totally understand. And I'm really sorry."

"Thank you?" Natasha said.

"But we'll get over it together," he continued and he offered her a smile. "You and me, alright?"

"James," Natasha said and she was blinking again, her vision going blurry again. She sunk into his chest. "James, I don't know who Natasha Romanoff is and I don't know what she wants. There's no missions involved with being her. There's no objectives and no codes of conduct. I've been training for years to be the Black Widow, but where's the Natasha Romanoff training? I don't know! This isn't going to be easy!"

"I didn't say it'd be easy," James replied. "I just said we'd do it together."


	58. 58 a nice restaurant

58 [a nice restaurant]

Natasha waited at the table alone and uncomfortable, smoothing her dress over her lap and looking around the restaurant with anxious eyes. It was a stupid idea. She'd said it to herself, she'd said it to him, but that didn't explain why was she still so nervous. She didn't want to admit that it might be more clever that she had originally thought and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

She waited there for an awkwardly long time, to the point where she was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with James when he came barreling in through the doors of the restaurant, still buttoning up his jacket and smoothing back his hair with gloved hands. She hid her smile behind a menu and watched him explain himself to the host at the door. The host pointed and James met Natasha's eyes. She raised her hand in a wave and he grinned at her, that wide, heart-stopping smile. She watched him approach the table and sit, his smile becoming shy.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," he said. "My cab driver got lost."

She knew he was lying. Except, no, not lying, he'd said earlier. Pretending. It's different. She stifled more of a grin and put her menu down to flash a smile at him.

"No problem," she told him. "I wasn't waiting long." He offered her his hand across the table. His right. Gloved, of course. She tried to 'pretend' she didn't know why. That was the point of the game, after all, and she reached over and took his hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "My name's Bucky. But you can call me James." She couldn't help but smile wider at that.

"Nice to meet you too, James," she said. "I'm Natasha. You can call me Natalia." Then, James took her hand and leaned over the table to kiss her fingers. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Is that first date etiquette where you come from?" She asked and he froze. She watched the tips of his ears turn red and he let her hand go.

"Oh, Ms Romanova, I'm sorry," he said, sounding adorably flustered and part of her almost wished this really was their first date because it was so quaint and he was so perfect and she would be fine with falling in love with him all over again in a million different ways. "I just, I got caught up. I was just so stunned by your beauty." She never thought she'd be able to get into this ridiculous farce, but she was feeling herself slip into the role and she gave him a wary frown as she took her hand back.

"Please," she said overly-politely. "Just Natalia." Now James was really flushing and she wanted to laugh. She would have bet money he didn't think he could have screwed this up. She couldn't tell him yet that he wasn't. He was still perfect.

"Of course," James said awkwardly and then hastily picked up his menu. "Um, see anything good?"

James had suggested this, this pretend first date. She'd said she didn't know herself and she was worried he didn't even know her and he'd suggested that they pretend to start over. The both of them, get to know her again. He'd seemed excited and she didn't think it could work, but she'd said yes and now there they both were and she was gazing at James again over the top of her menu and wondering if she could keep the First Date facade on all the way back to the hotel room and help him out of that suit jacket.

Instead, she said, "the oyster looked alright."

They ordered drinks and then James put his menu down and looked at her. Alright. Now was the time. He was going to start conversation.

"So, Natalia," he said. "You know Steve." Steve? Steve?! They were talking about Steve?

"Rogers?" Natasha asked innocently and sipped her water. "I know him."

"I just thought I'd mention him," James said, shrugging over-dramatically. "Since, you know, he's the one who set us both up on this blind date." Natasha began laughing so hard she choked on her water and once she was able to breathe again, she attempted to regain her composure. So they were setting up exposition, were they?

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Of course. But James, for a blind date, you do seem strangely familiar?"

"I do?" James asked and Natasha squinted at him and nodded.

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "Like I've seen you on the news or something somewhere. Were you ever on, say, America's Most Wanted?" James stared at her and let a breath out through his nose and she only raised an eyebrow playfully. "No, never mind, that can't be right. Maybe Top Model?" She could tell he wanted to laugh by the way his mouth twitched and he had to avoid her face.

"Yeah, a lot of people say that," he said jokingly and she set her water glass down and sighed.

"Hmm," she said over-seriously. "Vain." This was too much fun. They'd have to do this more often.

James sputtered, and then tried to turn the conversation. "So anyway!" He cried. "What about you? What do you, uh, do for fun?" Natasha stared at him and ran her finger around the rim of her glass aimlessly.

"Fun?" She said and he nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Fun. You know, because the things we enjoy doing are a part of our identity…" He raised his eyebrows at her meaningfully.

"Of course," she said, then looked down, and suddenly her mock seriousness was falling into honest seriousness. "I used to like to dance," she said. "I like to read." Then, "I liked to tease my ex-boyfriend."

"Oh, your ex?" James said.

"Yes," Natasha said and nodded, trying to lighten up. "I kicked him into a television set recently and he broke up with me." James gasped.

"No way," he said. "That's awful."

"It was terrible of him to leave me, yes," Natasha said, grinning.

"Should I really be dating you if I know you have a history of kicking people into television sets?" James said teasingly and Natasha smiled flirtingly. "I mean, that must have really hurt that guy. I bet it took him maybe, I dunno, a couple solid hours to superhumanly heal from that." She couldn't seem to stop smiling.

"That's the fun of dating Natalia Romanova," she said. "The risk."

"Weaker men might run," James said.

"Weaker men already have," she replied.

"Alright," James said. "So you like dancing and reading and kicking men into TVs. Anything else I should know?" Natasha almost snorted with laughter, but caught herself beforehand.

"Nope," she said. "That's a pretty conclusive list."

"Interesting," James said and he folded his hands in front of him, his elbows on the table. "That tells me a lot about you, Natalia."

"Does it?" She asked and he nodded and looked at her fondly.

"It tells me you value education. You like learning and knowing things because you're curious. You also like expressing yourself with your body, because you're naturally very graceful and strong," James said and Natasha listened to him, enraptured. She took the things that he said about her to heart and wondered if that was who Natasha Romanoff was.

"Does it also tell you I'm violent?" She asked with a grin. "Because that's what I got out of it."

"I think it sounds like maybe your ex was being sort of a jerk and the whole thing escalated," James said and shrugged.

"I like you, James Barnes," Natasha said.

"I like you, too," James said and she could see him biting back an 'I love you'.

"So," Natasha continued. "Natalia Romanova is curious and graceful?"

"She is," James said. "Do you agree?" Natasha sipped thoughtfully on her water.

"Yes," she said. "I think I do."

The waiter came by to take their orders and Natasha was embarrassed to find out that they'd both picked the same thing-a French onion soup and, more notably, the cheapest thing on the menu. She couldn't ignore the stunned expression on James' face and she handed the waiter their menus and said jokingly, "it's a Great Depression thing."

"You didn't have to do that," James said once the waiter left and she wasn't sure whether he was speaking as himself or as First Date James and so she just shrugged, pretending it wasn't a big deal.

"I like French onion soup," she said. "That would have been my first choice regardless, Barnes, don't think I'm sparing your wallet _or_ your feelings."

"I wouldn't dare," James said, but he was grinning.

The evening was supposed to be about determining who Natasha wants to be and who she is, but she found that they spend a lot of their time flirting and teasing and being silly. But every so often, James would redirect the conversation and ask her something about herself, make her decide, and then he tried to tell her what he thought that might say about her. And Natasha wasn't sure if he was one hundred percent correct all the time, but she was sure that she loved him so much she could hardly stand it and she couldn't stop thinking about how lucky she was to have landed someone so wonderful as to stick with her through those things. It felt good.

Later in the evening, the conversation had turned again back to Natasha and she leaned across the table over her half-eaten soup and they both mused.

"But what would Natalia Romanova _do_, though?" She said. "What would her life choices be?" James made a 'hmm' sound and turned his soup with his spoon.

"I don't know what she would do," he admitted. "But I think I know what she _should_ do."

"And what's that?" Natasha asked.

"I think she should do what makes her happy," he said. "I think she should decide whether she's doing things because she wants to or because she thinks she has to and make choices based on that."

Natasha didn't respond immediately because she was considering this seriously. James continued.

"That's the scary thing about life sometimes," he said quietly. "I guess. There's no manual and no one tells you what to do. You have to carve it out all by yourself and let your actions reflect your values." Natasha smiled a little now thoughtfully.

"You're waxing poetic," she scolded playfully and he smiled.

"Write this down, it's solid gold," he replied and she rolled her eyes.

Then, she took a risk.

"Would she get married?" She asked quietly and James' smile fell off his face. He didn't respond immediately.

"You want to talk about this now?" He asked and his voice sounded choked.

"You don't?" Natasha replied and he shifted a little.

"It's not that," he said. "I just thought… I don't know."

"What did you think?" Natasha asked him.

"I guess I thought you wouldn't even consider it," James admitted. "You seemed pretty, um, repulsed the last time I brought it up."

Natasha looked down and pushed her soup bowl away from her to make room for her elbows on the table. She took a deep breath and let it out.

"I'm just trying to decide what I want," she said to him. "It's a big thing. It's not something I've ever considered before now, that's all."

"What do you think will make you happy?" James asked and Natasha looked back up at him and his pretty brown eyes.

"I don't think I know yet," she said. "Is that okay?" James nodded and smiled a little at her and she tried to smile back.

"I can wait," he told her. "I want what you want."

"You're the best," Natasha said and James took her hands and stood up a little and leaned over the table and kissed her.


	59. 59 on the streets of Los Angeles

59 [on the streets of Los Angeles]

They were going back to the hotel, deep in conversation. Natasha had her arm around James' waist, fingering the edge of his jeans and sometimes brushing his skin, delighted with the sensation of him, drunk on his sweetness, and he drew her closer with his arm around her shoulders as the conversation lulled and he kissed her on the mouth. Her fingers tightened on his waist and she was enjoying the taste of him, their murmured laughs back and forth, when a loud buzzing interrupted them and James pulled away a little, startled. He reached around her and into his pocket and took out his phone.

"It's Steve," he said, by way of explanation, and Natasha stepped back a little reluctantly and let him bring the phone to his face. "Hey," James said cheerfully when he answered, slinging his arm back around Natasha's shoulders. She leaned into him, straining to hear the other line. "What's up?"

The sound was on just loud enough for Natasha to hear Steve groan in response, "Bucky, _please _come home." Her good mood dissipated and she felt James stiffen.

"I'm trying to, Steve," James replied quietly.

Steve said something in response and James swallowed. His arm around her shoulder tightened a little.

"Aw, geez, Steve," he said. Natasha strained harder to hear.

"... And it's nothing or anything, I just miss you. Your guys' apartment has been empty for nearly three weeks now," Steve was saying.

"Yeah, I know," James said. "I miss you, too. Talia and I wanna be home."

Natasha squeezed herself closer to James as they made their way slowly now back to the hotel, listening to the snippets of conversation as Steve expressed how lonely he felt on the other end and guilt overcame her. It was her fault they were out here and this was literally the worst time to be doing any of this Belova nonsense. Not to mention the identity nonsense. It wasn't fair to Steve or James.

Back at the hotel, James was deep in conversation with Steve, that anxious expression plastered across his face as he tried to reassure Steve that everything was going to be okay. He paced the room and Natasha sat on the bed, watching him go back and forth, feeling worse and worse.

They ought to be going home. They ought to be back there, not out here, where all Natasha could think about was how unsure she felt and how every decision turned into a life-changing, desperate action.

She couldn't even decide what she wanted. She didn't know anymore.

So as James wore a rut into the carpet, trying to speak reassuringly, Natasha jumped to her feet. He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised, and she could hear the quiet, muffled sound of Steve still talking on the other end.

"I'm going to get a drink," Natasha said. "A smoothie or something, across the street. I'll be right back."

James nodded to her and then said something into the phone's mouthpiece for Steve and Natasha practically burst out the door, sucking in a breath like she'd been holding it the entire time she'd been in there. She needed a moment, that was all.

LA was loud and sunny and warm and Natasha stepped out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk, telling herself to stop thinking about Steve and decisions and identity and her and James' apartment, collecting dust across the country. Her heart was tumultuous.

Like she'd told James, she began to make her way to a nearby smoothie place that had caught her eye on the way there when she felt as though something was off. Instinct spoke to her, about the way that the people who passed her stared unabashedly and she knew it was only a matter of time before-

Natasha's thought's came to a screeching halt as she was yanked backwards into an alleyway, hands around her throat and mouth and Natasha heard the familiar sound of a pair of Widow's Bits humming to life. She reacted in a second when the words in her head died, tearing herself away and a shot of electricity barely missed her. She felt the already warm air sizzle and Yelena let out a howl and aimed again with the other fist. This time, Natasha ducked to the ground and spun a leg around, taking Yelena's feet out from under her and she grunted when her back slapped the pavement. Natasha scrambled to her feet and turned and ran, an arms pumping, full speed run.

She had to get her weapons. She had to get James. She had to get some sort of advantage. She heard Yelena behind her scream wordlessly back at her, but didn't turn back around to watch her climb to her feet and start the chase.

Natasha ran down the sidewalk, dodging people, screaming for them to run.

Why would Yelena do this now of all times? Here, of all places? A city and a street so packed with people that so many more of them could get hurt than needed to. She ground her teeth. That was one way she and Yelena were not the same. Natasha had always had, if not a concern for the civilians, at least the finesse to attempt her assassinations in private.

She tore down alleys and corners in an attempt to lose Yelena, who was undoubtedly close behind, hoping to draw her away from crowds, when she turned next and found herself against a giant brick wall, decorated only with a small dumpster in the corner. A dead end. She skidded to a stop and her breath caught in her throat and she turned to run again, but met Yelena, standing there triumphantly with a giant smile on her beautiful baby doll face.

Yelena raised one fist and her imitation Widow's Bites cracked with energy. She grinned at Natasha.

"Dead end, Romanoff," she said.


	60. 60 dead end, romanoff

60 [dead end, romanoff]

Natasha swallowed, her mouth going dry.

"This is it then?" She asked and Yelena only laughed and took a step closer.

"I'm afraid so," she said. Natasha let out a quick breath, sizing up Yelena, and when she stepped closer and aimed her Widow's Bites, Natasha jumped into her space and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her and kicking her down, so fast Yelena could hardly retaliate. Yelena fought back as soon as she could, however, whipping her head back forcefully so the back of her skull met Natasha's nose and Natasha saw stars and heard a crunch. She shuddered. Her nose was still healing from the _last_ time it'd been broken!

Yelena took the opportunity to take her arm back from Natasha and whirled around, but every punch she threw, Natasha blocked. They became a whirlwind of attempted attacks, but Natasha was still blocked up between her and the wall and every time she tried to turn the fight so she could escape, Yelena blocked her.

"You are frustrating," Yelena huffed between hits. "But I suppose I would be disappointed if you were any less."

Natasha didn't respond. She didn't need to. Instead, while Yelena was hesitating to speak, she made a hit directly into her face, jabbing at her eyes. Yelena screeched and threw her hands up and Natasha turned back to the wall.

This is stupid, she thought to herself as she started running at it. This is something Steve or James would do. What am I doing?

Natasha leapt at the dumpster at full speed, catching herself on the lid and throwing herself at the wall. She dug her fingers into the mortar and scrambled upwards, propelled only by a few outstanding bricks and her momentum. Her right wrist screamed in protest and pain jumped up and down her arm.

"So much for rock climbing at the Grand Canyon," she muttered to herself, although she had to admit she was somewhat pleased when her fingers curled around the top of the building and she dangled there, starting to heave herself up.

"GET BACK HERE!" Yelena screamed in Russian below and Natasha felt something-a bullet?-clip the top of her ear. She scrambled over the top of the building and climbed to her feet, stopping only for a second to gaze down at the infuriated Yelena, who was red in the face, before turning to run again.

If Yelena had anything like Natasha did, then she'd have a grappling hook and she'd know how to use it. She'd be over that wall faster than Natasha had been and Natasha knew it. She ran.

Leaping from building top to building top in LA wasn't typically the Black Widow's thing. That was more for people like Matt Murdock or Spider-Man, but Natasha would take what she could get. And right now, this was all she could do.

She reached the edge of the building in seconds and her heart caught in her throat, thinking about the fall, but she knew if she slowed down for even a second, she might not make it. Instead, she pumped her arms and legs harder and when her feet no longer found purchase, she _soared_. She hit the second building in a roll, jumping back up to her feet.

What to do?

Find the hotel room, find her weapons, _kill Yelena Belova_.

It seemed like a good plan A, but the details were a little harder to eck out. And what about James? What if Yelena attacked him while they were there? Natasha didn't have a lot of time to decide, and when she reached the roof of her hotel building and turned around, Yelena was there, approaching at alarming speeds. Natasha didn't think so much as do and when Yelena met her at the top of the building, she grabbed her and wrapped her arms around her torso and threw the both of them off the building.

She wrapped her legs around Yelena's and reached for her wrist, but Yelena seemed to be thinking the same thing, and they pointed the Widow's Bite's at the rooftop and shot off the grappling hook. Natasha felt the yank as it caught on the edge and suddenly, they were swinging through the air. Yelena scraped and clawed at her, trying to get her off, but Natasha only held on tighter. She looked up over Yelena's shoulder, through her thick blonde hair as they headed right for a hotel window and squeezed her eyes shut as they burst through.

Yelena hit the glass first and caught Natasha's fall as they skidded to the floor against glass and dirty carpet. She looked up, praying she'd picked the right window, and was rewarded to see James standing there stunned, holding his cell phone to his face.

"Hold on Steve, I'm gonna have to call you back," he said.

"Uuuugh," Yelena groaned.

Natasha jumped to her feet and leapt over Yelena's body, running for the suitcase in the corner.

"_Weapons, James!_" She shouted. "Now!"

James joined her as they tore the suitcase apart. Natasha didn't have time to get into her entire suit, although it was adorned with weapons, and instead pulled her Widow's Bites over her wrists. James strapped guns onto her waist, and as Yelena pulled herself to her feet and ran near, James whirled around to face her. In one fluid motion, he grabbed a lamp off the table and swung it at her full force. The electrical cord ripped out of the wall and Yelena was broadsided in the face with a lampshade. She stumbled back, her hands over her mouth, and when she pulled them away, she spat out blood.

"Damn you, Winter Soldier, get out of the way," she hissed, and from beside him, Natasha cocked and aimed a gun.

There was a moment of pause while Yelena looked down the barrel of a semi-automatic and Natasha rested her finger on the trigger. Yelena's eyes traveled up to hers.

"We don't have to do this," Natasha said.

"This is _all_ we have to do," Yelena replied. She stuck out her bloody tongue and spat on the floor.

"You will not be happy," Natasha said. Yelena scoffed.

"Happiness isn't the goal," she said back.

"Then what is?" Natasha said.

"Are you happy?" Yelena said and she grinned. "Really, Natalia? Are you happy?"

Natasha hesitated.

"You're conflicted," Yelena answered for her after a moment had passed. "You're struggling. You've never achieved happiness, not as long as you've been chasing it."

"Then maybe it wasn't about that," Natasha said. "Doing the right thing hurts sometimes, you know."

"So that's it?" Yelena said. She cocked her head. "Doing the right thing? That's what you want?"

"It's important," Natasha said. Yelena rolled her eyes.

"Enough chitchat," she said and she leapt forward. Natasha shot off the gun and the bullet ricocheted through the room. She heard James scream. Yelena knocked her away and made a break for the broken window, glass crunching under her boots.

Natasha watched her leap out and scrambled to follow her.

"Wait!" She heard James shout behind her, but she could hardly hear over the roar of adrenaline in her ears.


	61. 61 hotel room

61 [hotel room]

Now equipped with weaponry, Natasha finally considered herself prepared and she followed Yelena out the window. She saw her swinging herself back up onto a building, climbing higher and higher, and Natasha followed.

It was dangerous work, flying through the air by her wrists, and Natasha relished the wind through her hair, blowing short red strands into her face. She was gaining on Yelena, closer and closer, and on the top of one building, she dove and tackled her down. Yelena's grappling line fell slack and she hit the ground with an 'oof'.

"No more!" Natasha screamed at her as the wind picked up around them. Yelena scrambled to get out from under her, but Natasha pinned her down. "No more chasing and fighting and shooting and threatening, Yelena! You're through!"

Yelena reached over and grabbed her right wrist, the injured one, and twisted, and Natasha gasped and let her guard down. While pain seized her arm, Yelena was able to get to her feet, but Natasha wouldn't let her leave. She grabbed at her with her good hand, digging her nails into flesh and yanking her back. Yelena stopped and looked down, then reached down and hauled Natasha up by her collar.

"I'm gonna throw you right off this building," Yelena cried and she reached over and tore Natasha's Widow's Bites off. "And you'll fall so far, you'll never come back up!"

"I'd like to see you try," Natasha choked.

Yelena's fist tightened around her collar and she dragged her close. There was hate in her eyes.

"You aren't a proper Black Widow!" She said and Natasha tore herself away and landed a solid punch into Yelena's jaw, right where James had hit her with the lamp earlier and Yelena fell back and groaned.

"No!" Natasha cried. "I'm a proper Natasha Romanoff! I _own_ the Black Widow! The Black Widow doesn't own me!"

The Black Widow doesn't own me! Natasha thought and she repeated it to herself over and over and over.

"You're an idiot!" Yelena screamed. The wind took her hair and dragged it around her face and she snarled.

"All I see when I look at you is a younger me!" Natasha shouted over the sound of the wind. "I want to help you!"

"That's the problem!" Yelena screamed back, backing up further and further. "That's all anyone's ever been able to see, but I'm not you! I'm not you, Natalia Romanova! I'm Yelena Belova! I am the Black Widow!" Yelena glared across the rooftop. "And when you're dead and there's just me left, no one will ever be able to compare me to you again! There will only be Yelena Belova!" She threw her arms down, screaming so hard her voice grated. "I am not you!"

Natasha hesitated, studying Yelena's face. Hair whipped around her and she was taking in breaths so large that her shoulders heaved up and down.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, words that couldn't be heard over the sound of the wind. Yelena threw herself screaming at Natasha and they grappled each other, knees aiming for guts and elbows aiming for faces. Back and forth and back and forth they went, their fight escalating into a lightening fast dance of dodges and hits and Natasha looked behind Yelena at the edge of the building and kept one eye on that precipice.

During one desperate moment, in an attempt to make them equal again, Natasha tore at Yelena's Widow's Bites. Yelena cried as one after the other was ripped off her wrists and then Natasha went at her with one of them, activating it. Electricity sparked around it and Natasha pressed it right into Yelena's chest. Yelena could hardly scream and Natasha dragged her, limp, to the edge of that building, holding her by her collar. She took the Widow's Bite away and held it over the edge and dropped it over. Neither of them could hear it hit the ground and Yelena was breathing hard. She was shaking violently under Natasha's hands.

"You would have me dead," Natasha yelled to her. Yelena sucked in a breath.

"In an instant!" She screamed back hatefully and Natasha hesitated only for a second to look one more time into her eyes and swallow.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "But you and I really are just alike."

The Black Widow doesn't own me. Not anymore. Not like you.

When she let go of Yelena's collar, she thought it was only fair to her that she watch her fall all the way to the bottom.


	62. Epilogue

Epilogue

The Grand Canyon really is huge. Even Natasha is in awe as she and James stand there together, sneakers burning on the hot rock and the mid-August sun beating down on their shoulders. She's coaxed him into less and less layers as they've been there, trying to get him to take off the sweaty leather jacket and gloves because she knows he's roasting, and he does eventually, but only after she promises in a mock serious tone to stab anyone who stares at them.

James whistles over the canyon and it echoes back to them. He turns to her and grins and she thinks he's perfect. She reaches up on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek and pushes her sunglasses back up her nose.

"We need to take another picture," she says decisively after another minute of quiet between them and he groans.

"Nat," he starts.

"How else are we going to fill a scrapbook?" Natasha protests teasingly, shoving his chest and he shakes his head. "Come on, James," she says. "One more. For posterity."

The camera is hanging around her neck in full tourist fashion and she picks it up and turns it around and lifts it, snapping a few pictures of their smiles.

For once, everything is perfect. _This_ is a real vacation.

It'll get even better tonight at dinner because Natasha has a pair of silver engagement rings burning a hole in the back pocket of her jeans, but she'll save that for later. All good things to those who wait, after all, and for now, she's just enjoying him and this and everything.

She leans her head on his shoulder and drops her camera back around her neck and he wraps his other arm around her waist and tugs her closer.

And everything's all better. Her life will never be perfect, sure, and she knows that, but here and now and James? It's all she needs and she owns it with a fierceness. She never used to think the Black Widow could have these things, but it was never true. She is Natasha Romanoff and she will be seen.

THE END

_I wish I knew what to say. I started this series last summer without an inkling of an idea of what it would become and where it would take me and now I'm looking at these past months with all this hard work in my hands wondering exactly what happened. And I'm so proud of myself. I really am, I think this is huge. And thank you to everyone who has read along with me and kept up and supported me because that's meant the world._

_I can't wait to keep writing. :)_

_-BlitheBells_


End file.
